


Thunder

by AutumnDiesIrae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dismemberment, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Human Winston (Overwatch), Human Zenyatta, Human/Vampire Relationship, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes Has Anxiety, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, POV Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sneaking Around, Sneaking Out, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Jesse McCree, Vampire Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Vampire Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Vampire Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampire Sombra (Overwatch), Vampire Turning, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDiesIrae/pseuds/AutumnDiesIrae
Summary: The year is 20XX. The world has fallen into disarray from the growing threat of vampires. Only one group of men and women are brave enough to slay these monsters and search for a cure for the virus - Overwatch. But it's not always so easy to resist a vampire.Vampire/Vampire Slayer AU.Alternating POVs.Boombox (Junkrat/Lúcio) is the primary relationship, with MercyHog (Roadhog/Mercy) as a secondary relationship and McHanzo (McCree/Hanzo) as a tertiary relationship.All chapter art is done by me!





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This nightmare ain't over,  
> I watch my window for the morning sun.  
> I know when it's over,  
> I'll just be hungry for another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a new multi-chapter fanfiction. I’m so excited, I hope you guys are as well. As a small note, the [brackets] around dialogue mean that it’s intended to be Portuguese, but is written in English for ease of reading.

 

                                                              

* * *

Lúcio Correia dos Santos was shook from his reading by the rumble of thunder. He realized he must have absently slipped into a stupor, rereading the same sentence over and over under the lull of rain on the roof and the soft _plink_ of droplets landing in the various bowls placed strategically under their roof leaks.

“[…continuing from our last broadcast, the tropical storm passing through Brazil has nearly completed its path down from the northeast corner. The storm is categorized as Category 2 as of now, and likely will be recategorized soon. Authorities continue to recommend staying indoors at all times, and -]”

The television fizzled, overwhelmed with static. Lúcio clicked his tongue, irritated, as his grandfather banged his cane against the top of the box.

“ _Coisa estúpida..._ ”

“[Papa, sit down, your joints,]” Lúcio’s mother urged, gripping her father’s arm and helping him sit back down on the plush couch. He sighed softly, looking to his grandson.

“[What are they saying, Lúcio? When will this ugly weather be over?]”

“[I don’t know...soon, I think…]” Lúcio murmured. The fast words of the announcer seemed to bleed together, exacerbated by the crackling static and Lúcio’s own tiredness. He watched as one of the twins pushed a new bowl under one of the leaks in their roof, glancing at him with a concerned expression. The lights were flickering again as the storm raged on, an endless barrage of wind and rain banging against their windows.

His grandfather made a sudden grunt of pain, rubbing his neck with one hand as his grip on his cane tightened.

“[Are you hurting again…?]” Lúcio’s mother murmured, concerned.

“[This damn humidity…]”

“[Lúcio, can you -?]”

“[Of course.]”

Lúcio pushed himself up, heading to the kitchen. He glanced over at his older sister, who was trying to do some homework on the kitchen table, squinting at the books she had rented from the library amidst the erratic waning and surging of the lights.

“[Grandpa?]” she asked, cradling her mug for warmth and sipping at the hot green tea.

“[Yeah. But it looks like the storm is ending soon.]”

“[How much do you want to wager classes won’t be cancelled for me tomorrow?]” Gabriela teased, watching as Lúcio put the kettle on and pushed a stepping-stool over to the corner cabinet.

“[You won’t go, I know you. You don’t want your books to get wet,]” he chuckled, opening the cabinet and pulling out a plastic bottle of ibuprofen medicine. He tilted his hand to pour out the blue gel pills and watched as one lone tablet skittered down the bottle and fell onto his palm.

One.

He blinked, glancing at the back of the bottle.

_Ibuprofen - nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug. Ages 12 and older: take two pills with water. Ages <12: take one pill with water. _

“[...shit.]”

“[Language. What’s the matter?]”

“[There’s not enough medicine...do we have more?]” Lúcio queried, digging through the cabinet. Cherry-flavored cough syrup, eye drops, allergy caplets - no more blue pain pills.

“[I don’t think so…]”

Lúcio hopped down from the stepping-stool, returning to the living room. His mother was mopping a puddle below a new leak in the roof, wiping the sweat from her brow from the gathering humidity.

“[Mama...we’re out of ibuprofen for grandpa…]”

“[Oh, dear…he won’t sleep with his joints like that...]” she said worriedly, glancing over at her father as he again poked at the television with his cane, movements stiff and jerky.

“[The pharmacy is open, isn’t it? I can get more.]”

“[You’ll do no such thing, Lúcio. It’s dangerous outside.]”

“[Mama, he’s hurting. Please. It’s not far, I’ll be back before you know it.]”

She pursed her lips, looking at him hard.

“[I’m 26, mama. I’m not a baby.]”

Her expression softened a bit, gently placing a hand on her son’s shoulder.

“[You’re still my child...]”

“[I will be safe. I promise.]”

His mother sighed softly, before planting a kiss on his forehead.

“[You’re taking the big umbrella.]”

Lúcio obliged, pulling on his green hoodie and pushing his worn leather wallet into his pocket as his mother fetched the absurdly large umbrella from the closet. She gave him another kiss atop his head, urging him to be quick, to which he ensured he would.

The only pharmacy in the favela was far, on the very edge. It required a good twenty minutes to reach, perhaps longer in the midst of the storm. Thus, Lúcio walked, his sneakers slapping against the wet pavement as the wind buffeted him, bringing with it the sheets of cold rain that soaked into his jeans and blew his dreads wildly about. The road had no sidewalks, leaving him awkwardly traipsing along in the bike lane and praying a car did not come speeding by to splash him with muddy water. He gripped the handle of the old umbrella tight, until his hands ached, and pushed on, pace quickening when he could see in the distance the faint lights of the drug store. He exhaled in relief as he jogged over, having half-expected it to be closed.

He pushed his way in, the little chime of the bell ringing overhead as he shook the droplets off his umbrella and pulled it closed. There was no one else in the pharmacy but the clerk, who was sleepily browsing her phone as the lights flickered weakly overhead.

“ _Olá,_ ” he said gingerly. She glanced up at him before making a soft grunt and resuming playing whatever app she had open. Lúcio shrugged and wandered through the aisles, looking for the ibuprofen amongst the condoms and sleep aids. Once he found the little plastic container of pills, he took it and a bottle of vitamin gummies for his younger siblings with him to the counter.

“[Is that all?]” the clerk asked, tiredly scanning the items and putting them into a small plastic bag.

“[Yes],” Lúcio replied, fishing out the money from his wallet and pushing it over to her. She handed him his change, giving him a long look.

“[…what?]”

“[You had best get home soon, kid,]” she said simply, before returning to her phone. Lúcio swallowed a bit, narrowing his eyes as he picked up the bag and headed out.

The storm had begun to taper off just a little, it seemed. The rain was still pounding down, but the wind seemed less intent on sweeping Lúcio off his feet. He cringed a little at the feeling of water sloshing around in his sneakers and soaking into his socks before pressing on. Something about the way that girl had spoken to him had forced a chill into his body that he wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. Crawling under his warm blanket and falling asleep would be perfect.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound of his shoes on the puddle-ridden sidewalks, accompanied by the relentless pitter-patter of rain on his umbrella, echoed back at him. Lúcio ran his tongue over his teeth, hoping for a cup of warm tea and a nice blanket once he got home.

Tap, tap, tap.

He kept glancing back behind him for some reason. Something was off. The air seemed…colder than it had been, and Lúcio had the overwhelming sensation of being watched. It seemed almost like there were eyes peeking out at him from the darkness. He swallowed hard and got walking.

Tap, tap, tap.

Lúcio’s grip on the umbrella tightened as he looked back repeatedly. He was almost home, and no one would attack him during such a bad storm, would they? Someone else would see, someone else would say something, someone else would -

He made a soft yelp as his shoe caught on something and he stumbled, the plastic bag slipping from his grip and falling to the pavement. He swore under his breath, bending to grab the bottles before the puddle soaked through them.

Tap, tap, tap.

Lúcio’s movements slowed to a stop. His eyes fell on his shoes. They were unmoving, still against the sidewalk.

Tap, tap, tap.

He lurched upright and wheeled around, gripping the umbrella like it was a baseball bat, ready to fend off whoever was sneaking up behind him - but there was no one there.

Lúcio’s heart was thudding in his chest as he shifted from foot to foot, slowly backing up. He was close to home, just a little bit farther, just -

The hands that grabbed his shoulders were icy to the touch. Lúcio screamed in terror, struggling wildly against the person who was holding him, but they seemed ludicrously strong, holding him in place as one hand moved to cover his mouth. He jerked his arm free, delivering a strong elbow right to the solar plexus of whoever was grabbing at him, enough to get them to briefly loosen their grip. Enough for him to slip free and run.

He bolted, not daring to look back at whoever it was, clutching the pill bottles to his chest, the umbrella long since forgotten behind him. Whoever it was seemed hot on his tail, moving way too fast for a normal person.

Lúcio glanced back, trying to get a good look at whoever it was, but this proved a fatal error. His foot plunged straight into a deep, murky puddle, slipping on the mud at the bottom. His legs flew out from underneath him as he crashed into the water, seeing stars as his jaw collided with the hard pavement and the vitamin bottle skittered away. Groaning a bit, he tried to struggle up, to run, but felt the hands grab at his hair and shoulders, yanking him roughly to his knees. Lúcio opened his mouth to scream again, but found he was suddenly unable to. Something cold and sharp had pierced his neck, seeming to take with it all the air in his lungs. He stayed stock-still, aside from the trembling of his fingers, and felt himself just grow aware of his surroundings. The water soaking into his jeans and shoes as he knelt in the puddle, the rain falling into his hair and on his face, turned slightly upward, the faint buzzing sound of the streetlamps above. It was hard to breathe. It felt like he was just…drifting…away…

“ _Ei! EI! O que você está fazendo?!_ ”

His assailant suddenly froze, removing the needle-like things penetrating Lúcio’s neck and relinquishing their grip on his shoulder and hair. Lúcio made a weak moan, slumping into the puddle and feeling the cold, dirty water rush into his hoodie. His arm lay stretched out weakly in front of him, gripping the bottle of ibuprofen. Whoever had attacked him was long gone, as if he had just disappeared into thin air, and was replaced instead with the piercing beam of a flashlight being shone down on him.

“…Lúcio?!”

There was a sound of feet on concrete and the feel of something warm on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“[Lúcio? Answer me! What happened?!]”

Lúcio found he could only make a soft groan in reply.

“[I’m taking you inside and calling your mother, okay?]”

Lúcio felt himself be picked up and half-carried, half-dragged into someplace cozy. He was laid down on something soft and plushy and found himself immediately curling up, trying to leech the warmth out of the place.

The woman who had found him was a teacher, one who taught Lúcio’s younger brothers and sisters. She immediately rang his mother and told her the state he was in, and it seemed like barely a blink later Lúcio felt her arms around him, gripping him tight.

“[I told you not to go out!]” she sobbed, burying her face in his hair. He did not reply, opting instead to press his own face into her chest, seemingly possessed by an icy cold.

Lúcio was wrapped in a blanket and sent home with his mother, who immediately ran him a hot bath and brewed him some tea to drink. Even though he was soon dry and sitting up in his bed, sipping the _yerba mate_ and listening to his mother dote on him as she disinfected his neck, he still felt as if some shard of freezing ice had been pushed into his body, spreading its cold throughout him.

* * *

The police ruled it an attempted mugging. Lúcio’s father was furious, demanding they try to find the harrier, but both he and his son knew the fruitlessness of the task. No corrupt police system was interested in some favela boy’s mystery attacker. Lúcio ran his fingers over his neck and felt the two swollen bumps, a wave of nausea following the motion.

“[It doesn’t matter, mama, life goes on,]” he reassured his mother. He was determined not to let what happened faze him.

Unfortunately, it would.

When Lúcio went into the town square to play his music and dance a little, one of his ways of raising money for the family, he began to feel faintly as if his skin was crawling. He ignored it at first, until the burning was so intense that he was forced to retreat to a nearby café’s shade. When he glanced at his bare arms, they were prickly with a rash-like sunburn. Lúcio tried his best to ignore it, buying a bottle of water and sipping it absently until the sun was lower and he could quickly walk home. Even in the waning sunset, his whole body seemed to boil.

He decided to take a break from his dances for a while, staying home and helping his younger siblings with homework. It was easy to put his sunburns out of mind for a while, until he was downstairs making a pot of green tea a day later and felt some weird dizziness overcome him. Nausea gripped him, making him sway a little as he rested his forehead against the counter, breathing hard.

“[Lúcio! I need help with this math!]” his youngest sister called from upstairs. He tried to shake the cold vertigo from his body as he moved to the stairs, but everything felt like it was spinning and swirling and -

_Thud._

“[…cio…? Lúcio! Are you okay?]”

Lúcio opened his eyes weakly, looking up at the owner of the voice. It was his older sister, holding his face.

“[…what happened…?]” he mumbled.

“[I don’t know, I heard the kettle overboiling and when I came down you were lying at the bottom of the stairs. Did you faint?]”

“[I think so…]” Lúcio pushed himself up, rubbing his temples. There was still a pervasive fatigue in his muscles.

“[Did you eat today? Maybe your sugar is low…]”

Lúcio realized, with a weird jolt, that he had not eaten anything all day. The last thing he could remember was last night’s _feijoada_ soup, which he had barely managed to make a dent in. His mother had looked at him reproachfully when he pushed his bowl aside after a few spoonfuls. The more startling side of this was the lack of hunger - Lúcio’s body never failed him like this.

It was scaring him.

Lúcio forced himself to have a protein bar, despite the fact that it felt like eating cardboard. It filled his belly, sure, but it was tasteless and hard to swallow. He drank some water to wash away the ache in his throat and returned to helping his sister with homework, trying his best to ignore the black specks that drifted into his vision.

Again, when time came for dinner, Lúcio found again he did not want to eat, poking at his chicken and rice weakly. His father looked at him morosely, rubbing his son’s back.

“[What’s the matter?]” his father asked.

“[Not hungry…]” he mumbled, scratching at his cheek. When he moved to set his hands on his lap, his gaze fell on his fingers. They were trembling ever so slightly.

“[I’m thirsty!]” Lúcio’s brother piped up, mouth full of rice.

“[Chew with your mouth closed,]” his mother scolded, using a napkin to wipe her youngest son’s face.

“[I’ll get some drinks…]” Lúcio mumbled, standing to go to the kitchen. In the motion of pushing himself upwards, a wave of nausea and weakness hit him like a brick. He staggered backwards visibly, a rush of blackness overwhelming him.

“Lúcio -!”

His knees hit the floor first, followed by his head.

* * *

 His mother was insistent that he go to the doctor, even after he reminded her how pointless it was. Lúcio knew what they would say, but eventually caved to her demands, pulling on a hoodie that covered his skin and head and walking to the favela clinic. He kept his head bowed and his hands shoved deep in his pockets - the few points where his skin was exposed to the sun felt like hot knives being plunged into his flesh, boiling and burning. He sat in the humid clinic in the corner away from the windows, waiting to be seen.

He waited.

And waited.

No one called his name.

Exhaling, he approached the desk again, asking when he would be seen. ‘Soon’. Descriptive. Lúcio sunk back into his chair and pulled his knees up, fighting the vertigo that came every time he stood.

After what seemed like hours, someone finally called his name. The doctor took his pulse and temperature before dismissively giving him a flu diagnosis and prescribing bed rest and soup. Lúcio wanted to make a scathing comment about how the plastic-coated thermometer had barely been in his mouth for ten seconds, but bit his tongue and went back home. He made it about halfway up the house stairs before his legs buckled again.

Lúcio woke up in his bed, a wet rag laid gently across his forehead. His limbs felt heavy, his body felt sore. He pushed himself into a sitting position, making a soft groan.

“Lúcio?”

His sister Gabriela looked over from his desk - she must have set up her work here, to keep an eye on him.

“[I blacked out again, didn’t I…]”

“[I don’t know how long you were like that…I came home and found you just lying at the bottom of the stairs…]”

Lúcio winced, rubbing his head. No wonder it hurt so much.

“[I’m not letting you out of bed until mama gets back.]”

“[Gabriela -]”

“[No! You’re sick, you need to rest!]” she spat, shaking with rage. Lúcio flinched a bit, causing her expression to soften.

“[…I’m sorry…just…what if something happens to you? Mama would -]”

“[Nothing is going to happen to me, it’s just some passing bug. You guys are just…]”

He fell silent, feeling small under his sister’s unwavering glare.

“[Look at yourself, Lúcio.]”

She handed him a small compact mirror from her makeup case, which he found he could barely hold straight. His hands were shaking so hard it seemed almost deliberate. He looked down at his reflection and felt his blood run cold - a shadow-eyed, exhausted-looking creature, trembling and exuding cold. But the worst part was his eyes - the bright, happy brown had become murky and tinged with red.

The next time he awoke he could barely will himself to move. Prying open his eyes, he peered up at the blurry faces looking down at him. A weak sound pushed out past his lips.

“[My baby…]” came his mother’s voice, choked. He felt something wet land on his cheek.

“[His temperature keeps dropping…]” his father’s somber voice joined in, removing something hard from under Lúcio’s armpit, “[He’s at 34 degrees…]”

“[C-call a doctor, or something!]”

“[But -]”

“[Please, do something, my love, our son is _dying_! Something, anything -!]”

His mother’s voice grew muffled. Lúcio figured his father was hugging her into his chest, as indicated by his soft shushing and her quiet sobs. She was praying now, voice breathless and shaking. Begging for some divine intervention to save her oldest son. Lúcio wanted to say something, anything at all, to take her hand and reassure her he would be alright, but his lungs seemed devoid of air, his body seemed paralyzed in a death grip.

“[Please, Lúcio…my Lúcio…]” she begged hopelessly.

That was the last time Lúcio Correia dos Santos heard his mother’s voice.

* * *

 “ _Hey, chico. Despierta. ...¿Hola? ¡Oye! ¡Despierta!”_

Lúcio twitched a bit, confused where this new, foreign voice was coming from. He could not force his eyes to open, he was simply too tired.

 _“¿Puedes escucharme? Di algo. Mueve la cabeza si puedes oírme._ ”

Lúcio shifted a tiny bit, feeling something soft and fabric under his fingertips.

_What is she saying? Is she speaking Spanish?_

“ _Ah, tal vez no hablas español._ Um _…_ can you hear me?”

English. Lúcio knew that tongue, though granted not very well. _Can you hear me._ _Você pode me ouvir._ He nodded a bit, still incredibly weak.

“Good. Drink this.”

Lúcio felt something cold and smooth - glass? - be pushed up against his lips. Its wet contents pooled at his lips, and he gingerly took a drink. The taste was sweet, like nectar, and yet savory all at once. The tastiest thing he had ever drunk. He lapped it up greedily. Each sip seemed to push a warmth and energy into his extremities, and soon he had the will to push his eyes open.

The girl looking down at him, holding the glass to his lips, was tan and had side-swept purple hair. Her eyes were a deep red, gazing at him coolly as she removed the empty bottle from his lips and tucked it into her pocket.

“…who are you?” Lúcio managed to rasp, voice rusty from disuse. He could feel his skin crawling a bit, as if there were small particles all over him. He shifted a bit, growing aware of the plush seat beneath him, the velvety blanket draped around his body. Where was he? What was going on?

“Call me Sombra,” she said with a smile, “We’re here to take you to Gabe.”

“…we…?”

Sombra jerked her head to the side, and Lúcio’s eyes followed the motion. He became aware he was lying in the backseat of a darkened car, illuminated solely by the harsh lights of the dashboard. In the passenger seat was a tall, thin woman, skin a deathly purplish blue, her glistening dark hair tied up in a ponytail. She glanced at him mutely, golden eyes glowing in the dark of the car, seeming to pierce his very soul. Lúcio instinctively shifted away from her, pressing into his seat.

“This is Amélie,” Sombra explained, trying to reassure the small man, “She’s with me.”

“…then who’s Gabe…?” Lúcio asked, looking over the driver’s seat as if expecting to see the owner of the name sitting there. It was empty.

“The one who bit you.”

His blood ran cold.

“…wh…wha…?”

Sombra opened her mouth, exposing fangs. They glinted down at him almost cruelly, sharp and foreboding.

“You’re a vampire, _chico._ ”

Lúcio’s hands flew up to his mouth immediately, running his finger over the inside of his mouth, and felt the prick of a sharp canine jutting out past his other teeth. Fighting rising panic, his eyes fell on his reflection in the glass car window, and could see piercing red eyes, bright and glowing, staring back at him. His skin looked sallow, the shadows contouring his face more prominent.

“ _Meu Deus..._ wh…what did you do to me?!”

“Hey, don’t freak out. _Oye._ Stay with me,” Sombra insisted, snapping her fingers in front of his face, “He was going to drain you. Blame that woman who saw.”

“D-drain?! Drain what?!”

“Your blood. To turn you into a Ghoul. Like Amélie.”

“W-why?! Why would you do something like that?!” Lúcio spat, scrabbling away from her.

“Stop throwing a fit. You’re going to be fine. We will take care of you.”

“No! Get away from me! Where’s my mother?!” he said, voice growing higher in pitch as his panic increased, grabbing at the door handle to try and bolt.

“Don’t bother. She thinks you’re dead. They all do.”

Lúcio froze.

“…h…how…?”

“The virus. Since the day Gabe bit you, it’s been in your system. It’s called Turning. To your family, you died of anemia. They called an ambulance, and, well, we came. We’d been waiting for you. If you got to an actual hospital you might have gone into…um…what’s it called in English… _el frenesí_ …Frenzy? I think. You should be thanking us.”

Her nonchalant tone could not be more different from Lúcio’s state. He could barely breathe - and yet, weirdly, he lacked the classic sense of lightheadedness that accompanied such asphyxiation. In fact, he could not even feel his own pulse. He was just hyper-aware of the itchy feeling on his skin, like the vampiric disease was trying to prickle its way out.

“N-no…no, what…what have you done…”

“Hey.”

Expression soft, Sombra gripped his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake.

“I know it’s a shock. But it’s done.”

Lúcio felt his eyes well up.

“M-my family…I’ll never see th-them again…?”

She hesitated, then reached into a nearby satchel and retrieved something.

“I grabbed this for you. Figured it might be a good reminder.”

Lúcio looked down at the item she handed him - it was his frog plush toy, the one he had had since he was barely old enough to walk. He could smell the familiar scent of his home on it with his newly attuned nose, and instinctively pushed his face into its soft velvety body, soaking it with tears.

“We’ll explain everything on the way. But we gotta go. Buckle up and drink.”

She handed him another vial, and Lúcio’s stomach made somersaults as he realized it contained blood. He had just drunk someone’s blood. Why had it been tasty? He felt sick. And yet, almost uncontrollably, he reached out with one hand as the other scrubbed his face dry, taking the glass in his hands and drinking deeply.

Sombra had transposed herself to the driver’s seat, revving the car. It rumbled like thunder, a low growl under Lúcio’s body, as he buried himself deeper into the soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

They drove.

* * *

* * *

* * *

_Mako’s Journal_

_1,684 days since outbreak._

_308 days since last human sighting._

_I’ve made my way to the suburbs of Perth. No signs of life except some Ghouls in one of the houses here. Didn’t expect anyone to be here anyway. Radio is running low on battery. Down to my last pencil. Will likely have to see if anyone left some things behind. The buildings seem largely intact, maybe I’ll get lucky - if there’s running water, I can clean Peggy’s handkerchief too._

_Today’s pig is the kunekune. Small, hairy, round._

 

Mako Rutledge replaced his worn leather notebook and the _Enswineclopedia_ world pig guide in his satchel before pulling himself up to his feet. It was nearing sunset. Perth was quiet now, but it would soon be ringing with the howls of Thralls and Ghouls, searching hungrily for a human to eat.

Animals, the lot of them.

He walked in the shade and loosened his hair, let the graying, matted clumps fall to his shoulders. Almost five years since the start of the outbreak. Five years since the world died. He closed his eyes and leaned against the skeletal tree, listening.

 

_Look, dad, I drew a piggy!_

_He’s a right cutie, sweetheart._

_SHE, dad, look at her bow!_

_Well, bless me, a fashion model!_

 

The creaking of metal forced Mako to stir. His gaze followed the sound and spotted a Ghoul clambering around on a weather vane, slobbering visibly. He wrinkled his nose at it and kept walking, until he reached a quiet part of the suburbs, where the houses still had their windows and the smell of vampire did not hang in the humid air like a thick blanket.

One of the houses was surrounded by a white picket fence, its pale blue siding peeling and rooftop shingles missing in various places. He tried the door - unlocked. That meant either they had run in a panic, or, more likely, they had never left the house. He sucked in his gut and wiggled his way in through the door, making the wooden frame creak loudly as it strained against his tall, wide body.

There was a sound somewhere in the building. Mako followed it and found the source was the television, flickering with static. As his eyes followed the coil of the plug to the outlet, he realized there was power in this house, humming with electricity in this dead zone of a suburb. They must have had a personal generator somewhere that was never turned off. The second theory seemed more and more plausible with each second. It made his skin crawl.

 

_Turn off the TV and come play outside, Peggy, it’s beautiful today._

_I wanna know about the doctors!_

_Are they talkin’ about that virus again? You don’t need to worry about that, angel. Come on, get your jump-rope._

 

The kitchen had items strewn around. A knife was buried in the wall, accompanied by small dark stains. Mako held out some feeble hope that it was just stray ketchup from a barbecue party, but the smell of decomposition was starting to hit him at this point. He delayed the inevitable as long as he could, testing the sink. The pipes creaked and groaned, sputtering out gobs of thick, rust-tinged water, before running clear at barely a trickle. Mako removed the pink handkerchief tied carefully to cover his mouth before washing it under the small stream with dish soap, doing his best to scrub away dirt stains before spreading it flat on a table to dry.

He found the bodies in the bedrooms at the far end of the flat. Sucked dry, necks broken to prevent them from reanimating. He counted four. Two were small. The littlest had a pink bracelet with cat charms on it.

 

_Dad, what’s happening?!_

_Get in your room and don’t make a sound! Don’t come out until I come get you!_

 

He carried them outside one by one and buried them in the garden, scooping at the dry, cracked earth with his hands. Side by side, the littlest last.

 

_Peggy?! Peggy! Where are you?! PEGGY!_

 

A Ghoul howled in the distance.

* * *

 

_Mako’s Journal_

_1,690 days since outbreak._

_314 days since last human sighting._

_I’ve deemed Perth devoid of humans. Not even Thralls want to stay here - just Ghouls, feeding on the rotting bodies. They don’t seem to mind the light. I suppose the new virus made its way here too. Not good. At least I’ve restocked my supplies. Fresh batteries for the radio - maybe I can pick up some more signals, find other humans._

_Today’s pig is the piétrain. Spotty._

 

Mako rested the notebook on the night-table before he adjusted the collar of the plaid shirt he had donned. He had found it in the closet, missing little patches from being devoured by moths. Better than his old filthy tee, either way. He planned to leave Perth in a few hours, try and follow some radio signals and find a hovel somewhere with some survivors holed up. He had less than 60 days left before his hope would run out. A year gone without seeing a human. Totally alone.

It was enough to drive him to insanity.

Mako gathered a spare shirt, a pack of pencils, and some batteries in his satchel, feeling his breathing grow harsher as he clutched the ledger. He had always been asthmatic before the virus, but now the gases in the Australian air made his lungs ache almost constantly, made his breath hitch in his throat even when he stood still. He coughed hard into the crook of his elbow before retrieving the handkerchief and tying it over his mouth.

It was still early, with barely enough light to illuminate the roads. Any sunlight was muted by the thickening layer of clouds above, a distant rumble of thunder echoing over the abandoned suburbs. The Ghouls hated rain, they would hide once it started storming. Mako exhaled softly, roping his satchel over his shoulders and sitting on the front porch steps, trying to relax his gasps. His fingers were still clamped down on the worn notebook, which he found himself opening to the first page. Something loose fluttered out, landing on his lap as its laminated surface blinked in the light.

It was a photo. The only thing he had left of Peggy. It was as battered as him, the corners torn and crumpled. It was hardly a flattering picture - the cameraman had taken it as the lens had been readjusting, leaving a small blur, and it was awkwardly angled to try and accommodate both his own tall self and the little girl in the frame, and ended up with his head cut off at the top. It did not matter to Mako, he was not the important part of the picture, in his Frankenstein costume with the unsealed green paint and the ripped blank tank top. The little girl was the star of the photo, grinning wide and exposing missing front teeth. She was wearing a witch costume, holding up a little Jack O’ Lantern bag full of candies and other goodies, with a pink handkerchief tied around her neck like a bandana. She had never left home without it.

Now, it sat on Mako’s face, the triangular corner of it flapping idly in the morning breeze.

That Halloween night seemed so long ago. A better time, before everything went wrong. A drop of wetness escaped Mako’s eye and rolled quickly down his cheek, soaking into the top of the pink fabric.

As he moved a thumb up to scrub his face dry, steadying his breathing, the wind picked up, buffeting his silvery hair.

“…lp…!”

Mako froze, pricking his ears. Was his tired, lonely brain playing tricks on him?

“…he…! …one…lp…!”

He pushed himself up, tucking the notebook and photo safely away, before following the sound, listening carefully and taking whichever route had the most volume. As he drew closer, the cries grew louder. He was not hallucinating.

“HELP! AGH! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASE!”

Mako rounded a corner, out of breath from his hastened walk, and found before him a sight that would burn itself into his memory.

A boy. Barely a teenager, it looked like. Absolutely filthy. His blond hair was frizzy and unkempt, his t-shirt ripped and tattered, his arms and legs coated with dirty bandages. But the most startling fact was that he was on the ground, clawing at the pavement of the suburb road with his left hand, as if trying to drag his body along, away from something. When Mako’s gaze moved behind the boy, he realized why - his right arm, up to the elbow, was currently in the jaws of a very angry Ghoul, who kept grabbing at the fleeing child and tugging him back, determined to eat this one.

The blond had noticed him, and promptly started screaming louder, voice hoarse from endless, hopeless calls that had, until now, gone unanswered.

“PLEASE! MISTER, PLEASE! HELP ME! _PLEASE!_ ”

Mako was stuck in place. The shock of seeing another human almost a year after his last sighting, combined by the sheer visceral nature of what he was looking at, had caused his legs to become nonfunctioning. All he could do was stare in horrified silence.

“P-PLEASE, I’M BEGGIN’ YA, PLEASE PLEASE _PLEASE_ HELP ME I DON’T WANNA DIE I D-D - AGH -!”

The enraged Ghoul, seeming to view Mako as a competitor here to take his prey, had started pulling harder, sinking its teeth deeper into the skinny boy’s limb. Red gushed out past its undead lips, spattering to the concrete. The smell of it hit Mako hard and snapped him out of his stupor.

He scrambled over, trying to grab the Ghoul by its remaining hair, but the corpse-like creature dodged and weaved to avoid his meaty hands and whisking the boy along with it. When he lunged for the monster again, it ducked and started speeding towards a building, dragging the kid along roughly behind it. Mako knew once it got onto a roof, his big, lumbering body would have no chance to follow, and he would lose the kid. Instinctively, his arms flew out, grabbing the boy’s free arm with one hand while the other wrapped around his middle, tugging hard. He was very strong, and certainly intimidating, but this starved Ghoul was unwavering, yanking the opposite way aggressively.

“OW! THAT HURTS, S-STOP! _STOP!_ ”

Mako knew he should not be pulling, but the thought of forfeiting the first human he had seen in almost a year, the first child he had seen in much longer, to some ugly monster had activated some panic deep in his core that just made him want to pull harder, to tug this blond to safety, anything at all -

“STOP! STOP, IT FUCKIN’ -!”

The boy screamed, his voice bloodcurdling, as there came a sickening rip and the Ghoul stumbled back a few feet. Mako fell backwards, the boy landing on his belly. It only took the sensation of something warm pooling into his shirt to let Mako know what had happened, but a glance at the retreating Ghoul confirmed it - the boy’s right arm was in its jaws.

The kid was throwing a fit, screaming and sobbing and writhing in Mako’s grasp as he grabbed at his own stump, blood gushing past his hand. The bigger man worked quickly, removing his new shirt and pressing it to the bloodied remains of the arm. The wound was hardly clean, the sinewy flesh hanging off in ripped tatters and the broken shards of bone cutting into the fabric as it grew wet. Mako felt his stomach turning.

He had to move. The boy was unsafe out here - the smell of freshly spilled blood and shrieks of an injured human would attract hordes of Ghouls, and out in the open the two of them would not stand a chance. Shushing the boy desperately, he picked him up in his big hands and bolted back to the house he had just left, barely able to hear his own ragged, asthmatic gasps past the blood roaring in his ears and the wails of the injured blond.

It had started to rain by the time he made it back, the flashes of lightning accompanying loud claps of thunder. Mako could feel the water drenching into his hair as he wrestled with the door. Once they were in, he slammed it shut and laid the boy on the couch, removing the plaid shirt that was soaked through by that point - not with rain, but with blood. The kid’s cries had simmered down into weak whimpers and terrified gasps - not from acceptance, but from weakness. Mako bit his lip behind the handkerchief.

“…wait.”

He moved to the stove quickly, unsheathing his machete from his back before trying the gas. It sputtered and creaked, clicking up a storm as he pulled out his lighter and moved it closer. The flame caught, burning his fingers a bit in the process. Small, but good enough.

“Wait there, kid, don’t move,” he instructed loudly, moving his machete over the tiny pinpricks of blue and trying to ignore the searing pain in his hand. The blade had to be hot first. That much he knew.

When he could not touch the machete anymore due to the blistering heat, he knew he had enough to do the job. He only had one chance. The blade would be too cool if he waited.

He left the machete on the stove to keep heating as he returned to the living room. The boy had slumped off the couch, lying on the floor and shivering visibly as a growing puddle of red formed under his body, soaking his clothes and staining the hardwood. Breathing hard, Mako picked him up and carried him to the kitchen, setting him on the floor in a pose that briefly reminded him of a crucifixion.

“Wh…what’re ya doin’…” the boy mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded from blood loss. Mako dug frantically in the cupboard and pulled out a wooden spatula, the wide part of which he pushed into the dying kid’s mouth. His bloodied fingers left smears of scarlet on the handle.

“Bite this. Hard.”

The kid made a weak noise but obliged as Mako turned and picked up the machete, gripping it with both hands by the hilt and holding it over his head like a sword.

The blond had picked up on what was about to happen, eyes growing wide and frantic as he tried to scoot away, making pleas muffled by the spatula in his mouth.

“N’! N’, _pl’th_ , d’n’t -!”

Mako gritted his teeth hard, knowing he would rather do anything but this, anything at all, but he had no choice.

He swung.

The sound was sickening, a mixture of a crunch and a sizzle. The boy was shrieking like a banshee, and even the mouth-guard could not stifle it. Mako, breathing hard, glanced down at the arm. To his overwhelming relief, the end of the stump was burned and no longer bleeding. Cauterized.

There was a clatter of wood on tile. He glanced up to see the spatula, in two pieces, lying around the boy’s head. He must have bitten the thing in two. Making ragged, rumbly gasps, Mako scooped up the kid yet again and moved back to the couch, laying him gently down on it and using his lighter to seal the cauterizing further despite the blond’s protesting gasps. He fumbled in his satchel and retrieved the first aid kid he had found under the sink in the bathroom, and gently cleaned the wound further with antiseptic wipes before bandaging it tight, eliciting loud hisses from the boy.

“There…” he panted, “Y-you’ll be fine…”

The kid made a weak sound, shifting in place.

“Lay still…I know it hurts, ankle-biter, but you have to let it heal...want somethin’? Water?”

The blond nodded feebly. Mako ran some tap water for a long time before filling a plastic cup with it. He knew this was hardly adequate hydration - half a cup of rusty water that had been sitting in a filtration tank for God only knows how long - but there was nothing else he could do for the kid. He settled instead for gently lifting the boy’s head and angling the cup such that the contents neatly poured into his mouth, allowing him to drink.

“What’s your name, ankle-biter?” Mako queried, as he replaced the cup and retrieved a blanket from the closet to wrap around the boy.

“…Jamison…” was the faint reply, all but a breath past cracked, dry lips. He had a tooth gap. Just like Peggy had.

“Jamison…that’s a nice name…” Mako said awkwardly, wrapping the fabric around the blond in a tight cocoon to keep him from moving and possibly reopening the wound. It was weirdly funny - a giant man making casual small talk with a teenager whose arm he had just sliced off.

“…and…you…?”

“I’m Mako…”

“…’s nice…”

“You should…just rest, Jamison. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better later.”

The blond made a noncommittal sound as his eyelids sagged further down, a yawn pushing its way out of his mouth. Mako stood there for a while longer, barely breathing, listening carefully to ensure the boy did not slip from life on that couch.

But he did not. He just slept, breathing soft and even, interjected only by the occasional grunt of pain. Mako eventually sat on the soft armchair across from the couch, letting his breathing even out as he retrieved his ledger and opened it to the latest entry. His pencil hovered for just a second before beginning its dance across the page.

 

_I just met someone. A human boy. Blond, a teenager. He might have been a Ghoul’s dinner if I hadn’t heard him, and he’s not even in one piece as is. I can only pray he doesn’t have any resentment towards me for chopping off what was left of his arm. But I couldn’t let him bleed out and die. Not like_

 

His pencil abruptly stopped, realizing his thoughts had gotten ahead of themselves. Taking a shaky breath, Mako crossed out his half-completed sentence and continued.

 

 ~~ _Not like_~~ _I don’t know what we’ll do once he’s healed. Maybe we’ll split up, but I hope not. It’s dangerous out there for kids. But that’s his decision at the end of the day._

 

Mako stopped his entry there, glancing back up at the sleeping boy as he made a soft cough. Infection. That was the other threat. They had the tools to keep the wound clean, but the worry was still pressing. He took a few more breaths to steady himself before moving his pencil back up to the top of his entry.

 

 ~~ _314 days since last human sighting._~~ _Human sighted._

* * *

 

Mako stayed with Jamison for the next few days, tending to him. He made a note in his journal about “how much this one wanted to live”. He had seen many a weak-willed man who had let themselves succumb to the smallest of illnesses, injuries, even to fear, but this boy was unwilling. Within a day he was sitting upright, and even complaining about being restricted to the couch. Mako reassured him it was until he was healed, and focused instead on caring for the wound.

Infection was a rampant problem in post-virus Australia, which only made Mako more relieved when Jamison - or Jamie, as he insisted on being called - never ran a fever or complained of nausea. The older man had seen many of those he had called allies wither away when their wounds became septic, but it seemed the cauterizing and constant cleaning and redressing was helping. Mako quietly thanked the late owners of the house they were in for having a filled first aid kit they could make use of.

Mako learned a lot of things about the boy each time he wrapped the wound in fresh bandages and tried to probe into his life a little. He was 15. Would not say what had happened to his family. His orange eyes were apparently natural, not contacts. He had been in Perth trying to find supplies when the Ghoul had seen him and pounced.

Once keeping the wound clean was no longer a primary concern, Mako turned his attention to finding food. He was paranoid about leaving Jamison alone, terrified a Ghoul or worse would barge into the house and he would return to find the only human he had seen in months painting the walls. He managed to alleviate this a little by leaving his big machete with the boy, instructing him where to aim on a target to stun them for as long as possible until his screams would attract Mako back to his side. Only when he was certain the lopsided child could protect himself did he leave.

He looked through other houses in the suburbia, hoping to find some people who had cans or tins for them to use - eventually, he came back with a shirt hammock loaded with soups, ramen packets, coffee, honey, and instant oatmeal. Hardly glamorous, and he had an inkling most of them were expired, but he made do, warming sludgy tomato chunks and chicken bouillons over the sputtering stove flame. Every time he would sit down next to the boy, spoon-feeding him from the piping hot bowl of soup or honeyed oatmeal despite his irritated protests, Jamison would ask the same question.

“Aren’t ya hungry?”

Mako would shake his head. It was true. He was not hungry. At least, not at first.

By the third day of caring for Jamie, though, he could not continue to ignore the throbbing of his gut.

It was dark when he set out to find something. He had made sure the blond was asleep first. He could not see. He could not know.

There were rats in the backyard, brazen, digging into the garden as if trying to unearth the corpses Mako had buried and eat them. He was quick. Soon, he had one, wiggling in his meaty grasp as a finger on his opposing hand lowered Peggy’s handkerchief, exposing his mouth.

Mako hated feeding. He hated the taste of blood, no matter how sweet and savory it was to other vampires. He hated feeling the weakening pulse of whatever animal he had grabbed in his hands as he drained it of life. He always had to drink too much. He was so much bigger than the others like him, and feeding on animal blood did not nearly energize and fill him the way a human’s blood would, even if he had sworn never to lay a hand on a person.

Mako hated feeding. He hated being reminded of what he was.

 

_Dad, your neck, what happened to -?_

_Shh, Peggy, lay still. I’m fine, dad’s fine. Lay still, you’re gonna be okay._

 

Mako’s eyes had closed. Stuck in the past as he drank from the dying rat. He never fed with his eyes open. It was too easy to glance at a window, a mirror, a puddle of water, and see his reflection. See those ugly red eyes glinting back at him.

“…god -!”

Mako was unsure what happened exactly - he was just aware of his own machete blade being jammed hard against the side of his skull, held awkwardly in a trembling hand. The boy was bristling, eyes wild with fear as he stepped up on his tiptoes, struggling to stand tall enough to perform the function on the seated man.

"I came out t’piss and this is what I see?! Ya fuckin' cunt...you're one of 'em, ain't ya?! Lyin’ sunuva bitch! …well?! Say somethin’!"

Mako made a small exhale, running his tongue over the corners of his mouth to collect the blood.

"Yes," he said, less to confirm and more to give a response to the enraged blond.

"Ya were gonna bite me?! Turn me into one of ya?!"

"I'm not one of those," Mako rumbled. He was telling the truth, but the boy was unfazed, pushing the knife up harder against the bigger man's head, making beads of red form on the edge. Mako was torn between wrestling the machete away and smarmily informing him it hardly would put a lasting dent in his vampiric body, since it was not silver.

"Bullshit! Fuckin’ Day-Walkers…should fuckin' kill ya here, cut off yer head. Or set ya on fire. Blast ya to kingdom come for what ya bastards did to me mum."

"That wasn't me."

"IT WAS! ALL YA BLOODSUCKIN' CUNTS ARE THE SAME!"

Mako winced, wondering where this orphaned 15-year-old had picked up such language.

"Listen to me."

"FUCK YA!"

Mako moved his hand up suddenly, gripping the hilt of the machete and pushing it back with ease. The one-armed boy stumbled back, falling on his butt and scooting away, terrified.

"Listen. To. Me. Boy."

The kid whined, trembling visibly.

“Don’t hurt me, a-arsehole. I’ll scream and t-the Ghouls will c-come and -”

"I am not going to hurt you, ankle-biter. I wouldn't have pulled you from that Ghoul if I was, would I? I can't Turn you, I’m just a Thrall. And I hate these monsters just as much as you do. They killed my family too. You ain’t special."

Mako's eyes misted over just a bit, looking into the past and hearing the faint screams of his daughter, the heavy smell of blood. Shaking his head, he looked down at the boy.

"I'm only here to help you until your arm is better. So please. Calm down."

Jamie bit his lip hard.

“H-how can I trust ya?!”

“Use your damn brain. If I wanted to feed on you, why would I be feedin’ on a rat right now instead? I am _not_ gonna hurt you. Now cut the crap, Jamison. You shouldn’t even be movin’, your arm isn’t healed.”

Mako picked the boy up by the scruff of his shirt, carrying him back to the couch and laying him on it before tucking him in.

“Sleep.”

The older man lumbered back outside, looking for another rat to satiate his thirst.

“…rats are me favorite animals…” came a strangled voice. Mako exhaled through his nose and went to find a bird instead.

* * *

 The boy was stable a few days after. Enough to start moving around. Mako had a nagging feeling the gas might have at least some effect on humans, otherwise Jamison would have spent longer waiting for his body to recover from the severing. It did not matter - right now, the important thing was keeping him from getting into trouble again.

Jamison hardly talked after the night he had seen what Mako was, other than the occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Why would he? He was afraid of the older man, rightfully so. His outburst when confronting Mako had told enough.

It was on the seventh day after they had met when Jamie finally spoke up properly.

“…I read yer journal.”

Mako narrowed his eyes.

“I know, I shouldn’t, but…I wanted t-t’know if ya were tellin’ the truth.”

“…and? Am I?” Mako asked coolly, raising an eyebrow.

“…mmm…I’m…I’m sorry ‘bout…yer girl…”

Mako closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Me mum…she…she was…”

Jamie blinked rapidly before his left arm moved to scrub his face.

“I just…I should’ve trusted ya…M…Mako…”

“Ya had every reason not to.”

“You’re not like the others…”

Mako opened his mouth to retort, but bit back his comment. He would hope he would never become like the others. He would betray himself to do so. He would betray Peggy.

“…we can’t stay in Perth forever,” he ventured.

“I know…”

“If you’re well enough, we’d better move. We have some supplies to take along.”

“…we?”

Mako slapped himself mentally.

“I mean…me. I’ll…you can do what you want. I’ll let you choose.”

Without waiting for Jamison’s reply, Mako pushed himself up and went to pack his satchel with clothes and the first aid kit. He was unsure if he wanted to hear Jamison’s answer. He had a feeling the boy wanted nothing to do with him.

The sun, obscured almost completely by gray clouds, was hanging directly overhead when he finished, standing on the balcony and looking out. The air hung heavy and smelled like rain.

Mako looked over his shoulder as Jamison exited the house, wearing a pair of cargo shorts and an oversized graphic t-shirt advertising a Dracula movie. The vampire frowned a tad.

“Shirt’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” he half-joked. Jamie did not answer, standing next to him and looking down at his boots.

“…what’s the matter?”

After a few moments of silence, the boy pressed against his belly, hugging him tightly and burying his face in the shirt. Mako could feel pinpricks of wetness.

“…Jamison…?”

“P-please don’t leave me…y-you’re the first b-bloke who’s been nice to me since mum died…I don’t care if you’re a vamp…please…please don’t leave me alone…”

Mako felt his heart ache. He had managed to stumble across camps of humans willing to help him, and while some of them were interspersed with self-centered pricks, most had not been interested in taking advantage of him. Maybe it was his size, his age, his demeanor. But this little boy, how many times had he been hurt? How many times _would_ he be hurt, if he was abandoned again? What if another one of his limbs ended up in the mouth of a Ghoul, and this time no one was around to hear his screams?

Mako knelt down, resting his meaty hands on Jamison’s shoulders as his thumb moved up to scrub the boy’s wet face.

“I won’t leave you. I promise.”

Jamison made a weak smile, putting his small hand on Mako’s big one.

“Now come on.”

Mako pulled himself to his feet, stepping down off the veranda and pulling out his map as Jamie followed closely.

They walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments/kudos are appreciated greatly. Please stay tuned for the next chapters!  
> I hope the prologue didn't scare any of you off :3c There's lots of angst to come.
> 
> Follow http://artumndiesirae.tumblr.com/ for chapter updates/art!  
> (Main blog: http://autumndiesirae.tumblr.com/)


	2. A Feeling For Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gluttony has overrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I am SO sorry that this chapter took so long - November was not a kind month to me. Hopefully future updates won't take as long. I really hope you guys enjoy this super long update!
> 
> EDIT (6 Jan 2018) - changed the chapter title/summary.  
> EDIT (17 May 2018) - changed a small lore inconsistency.

 

**_  
_**

* * *

 

**_10 YEARS LATER..._ **

* * *

 

_Mako’s Journal_

_5,408 days since outbreak._

_812 days since last human sighting (besides Jamison)._

_It’s been raining nonstop for at least a week. Hope it stops soon, or flooding is due. Jamison is hungry, but we’ve got no supplies. Not even meds. Priority is getting a roof over our heads before Jamie catches a cold. Or worse._

_Today’s pig is the miniature. Start out small, but grows fast._

 

There came a sickening sound, startling Mako out of his stupor. He peeked out from under the abandoned shed roof, watching as a familiar head of blond hair - albeit looking heavily deflated from moisture - staggered towards him, struggling with each step to pull his feet out of the shin-deep mud. Each time it sunk into the thick soupy earth and then forcefully pulled itself back out, the same wet slap of the vacuum returned. Choppy, arrhythmic, and soon accompanied by the loud squelch of an entire body smacking face-first into the mud. Jamison had tripped.

“Oh, goodness…” Mako grumbled, tucking his journal away and helping Jamie into their exposed, battered shelter. They had only stopped to try and take cover from the storm, but the buffeting wind swirled in through the broken windows and door frame, making the blond shiver. His long, filthy hair clung to his shoulders, flattened by the endless rain - if it was dry, the wind would be whipping it up and about wildly. Mako regretted allowing the boy to go looking for food - now he was soaked through and splattered with dirt. His pale, freckled face and scruffy beard were slick with grime.

“F-fuck, that’s c-cold…”

“You’re filthy,” Mako huffed, using his big hands to wipe the mud off Jamie’s spindly body. The younger man’s ribs were palpable - they had not found something substantial to eat in at least a week, aside from some leftover saltines Mako had been carrying along. There were enough rats and birds scattered about for the vampire to feed, but his lighter had long since run out of fluid, leaving them without a way to start a fire and cook the meat even if the rain stopped. He did not want the boy getting sickened from eating raw food. Not after what happened the first time - he could still faintly hear Jamie’s retching sometimes.

“We’ll be warmer if we keep movin’,” Mako insisted, supporting the blond.

“I-I just wanna sleep…”

“You know what’ll happen if you do.”

Jamison winced as his stomach made an audible growl, clinging to Mako’s hand. His grip was weak.

“Come on, Jamie…” the vampire insisted, hauling himself up and taking a step. Almost immediately his foot sunk deep into the mud, and he could feel the filth soaking into his cargo pants. Groaning softly in irritation, he turned to help Jamie down and started wading through the thick sludge, the blond in tow. They had to find something to eat, soon.

They walked, forcing themselves through the grime and muck. Mako could swear he heard a third person somewhere skittering around, but he was unable to see more than a few feet in front of him from the thick sheets of rain.

Each step took an absurd amount of effort, even for him - Mako could only imagine how difficult it was for the exhausted, starving Jamison. He glanced back and blanched. The boy was hunched at the waist, his left arm gripping his stomach tightly as he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the watery soil.

“Jamison…”

Mako slid his hands under Jamie’s body, lifting him up carefully. The blond seemed as light as a feather.

“I know you’re hungry, but you gotta keep movin’. We’ll find somethin’. Promise.”

He tried to prop the boy up, but Jamie just wobbled and nearly collapsed again, gripping Mako’s arm for support.

“Easy, easy…”

“…lights…” Jamison all but whispered, voice raspy.

“…what?”

“House…got lights…” the boy murmured, pointing behind him.

Mako’s gaze followed his finger. Sure enough, he could see, through the thick sheen of rain, what looked like a cottage, remarkably intact. Bright yellow beamed out of the windows, but nothing seemed to be moving inside.

“That’s…come on, let’s look…”

Jamison pushed himself up, returning to wading through the mud as he trailed behind Mako. The human struggled with each step, overwhelmingly exhausted from lack of nourishment, and had to stop several times to cling to Mako’s hand and catch his breath again.

“Easy, Jamie…one step at a time…”

The blond nodded, forcing himself to keep walking. As they drew closer to the cottage, the smell of cooked food began to percolate in the air. Jamison began to drool visibly. The savory scent hanging in the air was meaty, mingled with the overlay of spices. Mako furrowed his brow, but Jamie was already pushing forward, muttering under his breath about how good it smelled. The vampire narrowed his eyes and grabbed the boy’s hand, tugging him back.

“Bad idea.”

“W-why? T-there’s food and lights and -”

“In the middle of nowhere? Electricity? Food? That’s mighty suspicious, Jamison. Forget it.”

“P-please, Mako, I’m so hungry…give it a fair go…” Jamison pleaded. His stomach groaned as he spoke, as if to punctuate his statement - though it was less of a growl and more of a faint, desperate whine. Mako’s movements slowed, biting his lip. Who knew the next time they would find food, or a house with electricity and heat? His eye followed the bouncing movements of Jamie’s shoulders as he shivered, blowing into his lone left hand to try and warm it.

“Fine…but wait,” Mako insisted, taking a step towards the door, “Me first.”

Jamie stood behind his big arm, watching as he banged his fist against the door, making the shutters clack audibly against the glass windows.

“Hello? Anyone there?” Mako called.

No answer.

He cautiously tried the doorknob, holding it awkwardly between his thumb and forefinger, and found the cottage was unlocked. He carefully pushed the door open, listening to the loud creak of the wood.

“…hello?” Mako called again.

No answer, again.

“…maybe they’re not home…”

Jamison’s chin was slick with saliva, overloaded by the smells in the air, but he obediently stayed behind Mako’s arm. He looked like a stray dingo puppy, sheltering behind mama. Mako caved.

“Alright, alright, go eat, but we -”

He did not have time to finish - Jamie had bolted inside, leaving a trail of muddy footprints leading right to the kitchen. The older man made a soft rumbly sigh before sucking in his gut and wiggling his way in through the tiny door, feeling the frame protest audibly before he made his way through, shutting the door after him.

By the time he found Jamie, the boy was already halfway through his first plate of food, and Mako could understand why. The long dining table was adorned with a variety of things to eat, akin to a buffet. Plates of fresh-baked dinner rolls with garlicky butter spread, and what looked like roasted ham or bacon sizzling in a skillet loaded with olive oil and various seasonings. Mako could not be sure what exactly the meat in question was - the smell was indistinct, muddled with the stench of spices. Even though it had effectively been 15 years since Mako had eaten anything other than blood or beer - and before that he had long been a vegetarian - he could still faintly remember how these things tasted. He felt his mouth retroactively water in the thick haze of spicy smells. There was something else his nose was picking up. Something tangy and bitter. He could not put his finger on what it was, but it hung pervasively in the air.

“Th’ i’ th’ b’ th’ ‘v’ ‘t’n’…!” Jamie exclaimed, past his mouthful of bread and meat. Mako wrinkled his nose.

“What? Don’t talk with your mouth full, Jamison.”

The blond swallowed hard as he used another roll to mop the meat grease that had dripped onto his plate.

“I said, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. So good…”

“Don’t stuff yerself, you’ll get sick.”

“You’re just jealous, mate,” Jamie teased, his thick Aussie lilt dancing around his words. Mako had grown up in New Zealand, making his accent more muddled. He had wanted Peggy to grow up there too. She never did see the island.

“…you’re enjoyin’ yerself?” Mako said, distracting himself by looking back at Jamison as he scarfed down more meat and bread like a starved wolf.

“Mmmhmm!” the boy chirped, beaming.

“I’m going to go see what else is here. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Go? Like where? Back out in the rain?” Jamie scoffed. Mako did not answer. It felt like someone was staring at the back of his head, but the only thing behind him was a wall with a mirror. He could see his reflection in this one - must not be silver-lined.

The house was empty, almost suspiciously so. There was a thin layer of dust on everything in the bedroom, the musty sheets showing no signs of regular nightly disturbance. The closets were completely stripped bare, the carpets crunched with mildew underfoot, the unlit lamps were thick with cobwebs. If he had not just seen the busy, food-filled kitchen, Mako might have assumed the house had been abandoned for at least several months, if not longer.

Aside from the kitchen, the only other room bearing signs of life was the bathroom - it was dustless, but reeked of bleach though there was no sign of the stuff anywhere, and the showerhead was dripping loudly into the ceramic tub. Mako reached for the faucet handles, slowly turning them, and watched the clear water rush out. No rust or black dirt. Clearly the tanks were frequently used, supplied fresh water from some unknown source. The mirror had some faint dark fingerprints on it, as did the bottom of the sink, and the drain grate in the floor shifted underfoot when Mako nudged it with his boot. He narrowed his eyes as he returned to the kitchen.

“Jamison, have you -?”

He was cut off by a loud snore. Jamie had fallen asleep, face-down in a plate of rolls and meat. Mako paused, then a long, low sigh escaped him as he moved over, gently lifting the boy’s face up and wiping it with a cloth napkin. He was out cold - likely overwhelmed by the sudden rush of food and warmth after being so fatigued for so long. The vampire carried him over to the nearby couch, laying him gently on his side and watching the boy curl up slightly, making the softest of moans under his breath. His long hair had begun to dry, frizzing in the hot, humid air of the kitchen. Mako made a low rumble of a chuckle, stroking Jamison’s back before he turned his attention to the rest of the house once again. The water was working in the bathroom - maybe it was time for a hot shower.

Many vampires embraced their newfound cold upon Turning - Mako had not, even 15 years, after the fact. Whenever he got the opportunity to warm himself in a bath or by a fire, he took advantage of it, like a lizard seeking the sun in the early mornings. He turned his attention to the bleach-scented bathroom, turning the knob for the bathtub shower-head and watching the water gush out, surprisingly clear. He undressed himself slowly, dropping his cargo pants to the floor and hearing the audible _clink_ of metal of the belt buckle on the tile, before pulling himself into the big ceramic tub. He knew due to his height and width, the water would never reach all parts of him at once - that much Mako had been used to for many years. He did his best anyway, turning slightly every few minutes so the water could pass over his back and broad shoulders. There was no soap to be found, unfortunately - he made do with absently rubbing off the thick layers of grime with his hands.

It seemed like a great length of time had passed when Mako finished - a glance at the clock confirmed it had been a good thirty minutes. He scrubbed himself with a white, musty-smelling towel that was hanging nearby before carefully redonning his clothes. The heat he had managed to garner from the lukewarm shower was rapidly dissipating, leaving behind his vampiric cold, like a layer of ice on his body. He exhaled, tying his long hair up in a ponytail as he glanced in the mirror. The face that looked back filled him with disgust. The dark crimson eyes, the large tusks, the sallow skin - his blood boiled. How he would give anything at all to rid himself of this curse. He felt his brow furrow more and more the longer he looked into his reflection, felt more anger well up in his gut, felt -

Pain.

Mako blinked in shock, glancing down at his right hand. His knuckles were bloody, and there was the audible clatter and clink of glass shards tumbling into the ceramic sink. He had punched the mirror. Grimacing, Mako shook his hand, watching the bloodied welts heal themselves quickly, as he looked back at the shattered glass. Instead of a flat back to the mirror, to his surprise, he could see shelves. He realized this was one of those bathroom cabinets with a mirror for the door, and he had swung straight through to the innards. Out of curiosity, he opened the little door, looking at the contents. Just two things - an empty bottle of ibuprofen pills, and a packet of tablets. Mako turned the box over in his hands, reading the label.

_Zaleplon - fast-release sleep aid. Helps you fall asleep quickly. Short release time - no drowsiness. Do not take with food._

Mako blinked, feeling a weird sense of dread well up in him. He cautiously opened the end of the box, sniffing at the pills - the tangy, bitter smell that hit him was exactly like what he had smelled emanating from the feast in the kitchen. The one Jamison had just been devouring.

“J-Jamie -!”

Mako bolted out of the bathroom, straight for the couch he had left the boy on.

It was empty.

“Jamie?! JAMIE!”

Mako turned around, desperately looking for the blond, hoping he had just gotten up to eat again, or drink, or anything -

A scream, loud, ripped through the entire cottage.

Jamison’s scream.

“JAMIE!”

Grabbing his hook and machete, Mako followed the sound of the scream, and found a door he had neglected earlier, hanging slightly ajar. There were claw marks on the frame, far too many to just be Jamie’s. Mako’s stomach turned as he slowly pulled the creaking door open. The stench buffeted him from the winding stairs leading down. Rotting meat.

He took a step down gingerly, feeling the wood of the stairs protest the pressure. He was holding his breath - a mixture of fear and trying to force himself to fit in the narrow hall leading down to the basement. In some sick way, Jamison’s terrified shrieks were drowning out the noises he was making.

“Hush, little mouse, hush! You make too much sound!” someone was saying. Its voice sounded inhuman, more like the hiss of a snake. There came a muffled cry of pain and sounds of scuffling as something growled deeply. Mako cautiously scooted along, doing his best to stay quiet. As much as he would love to bolt in and start slicing heads, if he barged in to save Jamie without knowing what he was up against, it would spell disaster for the boy.

“What about...the big one…” another voice, raspy and feminine, chimed in. This one spoke slowly, dragging out each word.

“Don’t worry about ‘im, if he tries summat we’ll be feedin’ the mouse his guts,” the first voice purred, amidst metallic clicking. Mako gritted his teeth. There were more muffled sounds of pain.

“This one is…too thin…”

“Tosh, we’ll fatten him up soon. Besides, we can have a leaner cut this time.”

Mako angled his head slightly, peeking out around the corner. He felt his stomach sink into his shoes as a cold chill passed over him.

To describe the basement as a torture chamber would be the worst understatement since the Sydney scientists told the Australian populace that the gas “may have adverse effects”. The floor was slick with red that puddled around the rusty drains. Tools, coated in orange, hung from the walls and lay littered on tables. There were bowls with half-rotted guts and brains scattered around, and tall, thin cages that lined the walls. Eerily human-sized. There were bones too, everywhere. All picked clean, the only immaculate things in this bloodstained hellhole.

And there was Jamie, right in the middle of it, tied up in a crucifixion pose with three of these disgusting mutant vampires swarming around him like cannibalistic vultures. One had bandaged eyes, another appeared to lack ears, and the third’s lower jaw was absent, his long tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Mako's grip tightened on his hook as he took a deep breath. Any sounds he made, Jamison was drowning out with his incessant screaming.

"MAKO! MA -!"

"I said, shut up, ankle-biter," one of the mutants spat, decking Jamie so hard that his nose began to bleed almost immediately. The blond made a choked groan, flopping back against the table weakly.

"I'm hungry, boss..." piped up the deaf one, words a slow drawl as she looked up at the blind one, clearly trying to read his lips, “His blood...smells so good…”

The mute one made some guttural noises, drool glistening on its tongue.

“Ya fuckin’ savages…fine. Hold on.”

The blind leader moved a mechanical, twitching arm under the table, withdrawing a rust-coated blade. Before Mako even had the chance to react, the mutant had plunged it into the side of Jamie’s right leg, sawing and hacking away to get a sliver of meat to share with his partners. The screeches erupting from the boy’s mouth would haunt Mako’s dreams forever.

Without waiting to think, he bolted out from under cover, grabbing the nearest vampire - the mute one.

“Mako -!”

“What the fuck -?!”

His hand found the mutant’s tongue, ripping it out in one swift motion before moving to gut the monster with his hook. Before he could, his arm was grabbed roughly by the deaf one, who scrabbled onto his back and began biting at the tender flesh of his shoulders and neck. These were Day-Walkers, the same as Mako - they had big tusks that sunk deep into his skin, and fangs that seemed to hook on, refusing to relinquish their grip. Mako cried out in pain, grabbing blindly behind him to try and pull the thing off. The blind and mute ones had joined, dogpiling him. Mako could feel more blood soaking into his shirt with each movement made by the mutants, struggling not to fall to his knees. Trying to ignore the growing blackness in his vision, he slammed his back hard against the nearest wall, which was riddled with rusty dissection tools hanging from the ceiling. He faintly heard the leader yelp, sliding off of him and crumpling to the floor, as the other two struggled to hold on, disoriented from the motion. That was all Mako needed - his hand found the thrashing leg of the mute one, grabbing it and swinging him around to smash the vampire’s skull against the nearest table, feeling the satisfactory crunch and the gush of brains squeezing out between his meaty fingers. No vampire could survive this barbarian version of decapitation - one down, two to go.

The deaf one was making loud screeches, sinking its long talons deep into Mako’s shoulders in an attempt to stay attached, like some disgusting oversized leech. Mako’s hand found her head, pulling her off and slamming her to the floor. She lay dazed, her ears likely ringing from the brute force, as the bigger man grabbed his machete from the holster on his back and swung it down, cutting off the deaf one’s head in one swift motion. Two down.

He looked around frantically, trying to find the blind leader, but his own exhaustion from the fight and his choked asthmatic gasps made pinpointing the mutant near impossible. Praying he had fled in fear, Mako lumbered over to Jamison, who was still on the table, writhing against his binds. His mouth was moving, obviously yelling up to his partner, but the roaring of blood in Mako’s ears and his heavy, raspy breaths drowned out the sound.

“G-gonna…get you out…” he mumbled, using his machete to slice the ropes. His big, trembling hands made the motions difficult, but he tried his best to keep steady. One wrong move and Jamison’s wounds would be much worse - his right leg was already in horrendous shape, bleeding out past the knife still buried in the hole on the side of the calf.

“Mako! God, you’re bleedin’ -!” Jamie was saying, immediately sitting up and grabbing his partner’s face once his arms were free, “Fuck, we gotta get outta here -!”

Mako made a weak cough, disoriented.

“Yeah…yeah, I’ll…lemme just…”

He moved to cut the binds around Jamie’s legs, but out of seemingly nowhere, the blind one leapt onto his back, scratching at his face. Jamie screamed, having not expected it, as Mako stumbled back with a roar of pain. He had all but thrown his machete on the side of the table, struggling to grab at the monster biting at his neck and back.

Jamie, realizing that Mako’s exhaustion was getting the better of him, struggled to grab the machete. It was just shy of his reach, as much as he strained his body. When he could feel his left hand brushing the hilt, it scooted a few inches away.

“D-dammit -!” Jamie made a choked cry, glancing back at Mako. He had long since sunk to his knees, still trying to grab at the blind mutant. Cursing loudly, Jamie looked around for anything he could use, anything at all -

The knife in his leg glinted up at him.

Gritting his teeth, the blond grabbed the blade and yanked it out, crying out in pain, before using it to saw off the binds around his ankles. He squirmed over, fingers wrapping around the machete handle, before jumping down to the floor and limping over as fast as he could, hacking wildly at the mutant. It screeched, blindly tackling him to the floor. The only thing between Jamie and those snapping teeth was the machete he held like a bar between them.

Mako lifted his head weakly, vision blurred, and squinted a bit.

“Jamie…?” he all but whispered.

The mutant’s boot heel pressed hard against Jamison’s open wound, making him shriek.

“…Jamie!”

With some strength that he pulled from only God knew where, Mako lurched to his feet, grabbing the monster by its waist and hurling it down the basement. It skidded a few times across the floor before crashing into the table of tools at the end, a cloud of dust and half-dry guts flying into the air. It was silent.

Jamison had rolled over to watch, panting. Using the machete as more of a cane, he heaved himself up, leaning on it for support as he looked to his partner.

“M-Mako…?”

The big vampire made a strangled wheeze, falling to his knees and slumping to the bloody ground. Jamie paled, bolting over and sliding his body under Mako’s meaty arm to try and lift him up.

“Mako, mate, ya gotta get up, come on -! Please -! Mako!”

There was a rustle of sound, making Jamie jerk his head up. The mutant was still alive. Making deep rasps, it staggered out from under the pile of tools, bleeding profusely as it looked around. As Jamie knelt, stock-still, he realized that the blind creature could not pinpoint him. He had one chance.

Moving exceedingly slowly to avoid making sound, Jamie crawled over to the machete he had dropped, slowly wrapping the fingers of his left hand around it. It made the slightest of scrapes against the tile floor, making the leader prick his ears and take a few steps closer. Jamie held his breath, terrified - this felt like a twisted game of Marco Polo, where the loser would die. He could only be grateful his smell was masked a little by the filth of the basement.

The mutant took another few steps closer, breathing hard.

“I know you’re there, little mouse…” he growled, zombie-like. Jamison swallowed hard, holding the machete like a baseball bat as he slowly strafed to the side, around the blindly lumbering monster. Inch by inch, he came closer, heart thudding so loud he was sure the mutant could hear it.

His foot bumped against a pair of scissors, sending them skittering a few inches. Enough to alert the leader.

With a snarl, he whipped around, bolting right for where Jamie was standing. The blond was frozen, palm sweaty on the hilt of the machete. He shut his eyes tight and swung.

When he opened his eyes again, the headless corpse staring back at him stood upright for all but a second longer before crumpling forward, splashing him with its cool, sticky blood before it crashed to the tile. Jamie finally let out the breath he was holding, shaking visibly. He had no idea where the head was. He did not want to know. He wiped his face with the length of his arm, staring down at the thick sheen of red blood.

Blood.

“Mako -!”

Jamie ran over to the fallen vampire, struggling to roll him onto his back. That would be hard enough with two hands, let alone one, but he managed eventually, gasping weakly, before bolting upstairs and digging around in the cupboards to grab a clean plastic cup, sitting unused in the back. He limped back down the stairs, sitting on the bottommost one and angling his calf over the cup, watching the dark blood pool into it. He felt nauseous watching his own bodily essences leaking out like this, and lightheaded from the sheer loss he was enduring, but he bit his lip hard and kept at it.

After filling the cup to halfway, which required a hefty amount of squeezing and near-strangling of his own leg, he staggered over to Mako, pressing the cup to his lips.

“Open, dammit!” he demanded, shaking so much he was sure he would lose some of the precious blood. Mako made a weak, exhausted grunt, but obliged, opening his mouth just enough to let Jamie angle the cup, the thick red stuff trickling into the vampire’s mouth. After realizing what it was, Mako began to drink thirstily, greedily swallowing the contents. His eyes opened slowly, the red irises ablaze with color instead of their usual muted brownish-red. The color of a vampire who had just fed.

“…Jamie?” he spoke, looking down at the cup in the blond’s left hand, “Please tell me this ain’t yers…”

“It’s fine, ya needed it, Mako…” Jamie said, dropping the cup and curling into his partner’s arm.

“Fuck’s sake, Jamie…” Mako whined, gripping him close.

“I’m sorry, this was all me fault…”

“No, no, don’t say that, Jamie…you couldn’t have known…”

Mako’s eyes moved down to Jamie’s still-bleeding leg wound.

“Shit, that’s deep…where’s the -?”

“I killed it.”

Mako looked down at Jamie in shock.

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

He pointed noncommittally at the headless corpse lying nearby, making a cough. Mako bit his lip, looking down at Jamie’s calf again in the dim, flickering light of the incandescent bulbs.

“Jamie…we’ve got no first aid, no meds…this’ll get infected…that knife was rusty, it’ll -”

“We’re not cuttin’ it off.”

“Jamie -”

“NO.”

Jamie gritted his teeth, hair seeming to stand on end like a feral cat's.

"We're not cutting anythin' off! It hurt like hell last time! Forget it!"

"Jamison. What if it gets infected. What then."

Jamie bit his lip, spite faltering.

"...p-please..." he begged, "I'm scared..."

Mako hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“There’s runnin’ water upstairs…let’s clean you up…”

He heaved himself to his feet and scooped Jamie up, holding him securely in his big hands and carrying him up the stairs. Jamie clung to his arm, breathing hard and making tiny whimpers.

“Shh, Jamie, shh…”

Mako removed Jamie’s boots and stripped him down to his boxers before gingerly sitting him in the tub. He ran the water, gently washing Jamison free of the layers of grime and dried blood. The boy remained silent until Mako started splashing and rubbing water onto the open knife wound - Jamie made painful hisses with each passing wave, but did not flinch away. Mako admired his courage.

“There, I think that’s all of it…” he said, turning off the tap, “Wait here.”

He lumbered to the bedroom, pulling the sheet off the bed and giving it a hard shake to clear the dust. He used his brute force to rip it into several long, thin strips in lieu of bandages, then returned to the bathroom and wrapped them around Jamie’s leg.

“I hope this is clean…” he mumbled, before picking the blond up and carrying him to the couch to lay down, “The water is clean, you want a drink? …Jamie?”

The boy’s head was trained towards the dinner table, and he had turned a decidedly green color.

“…that’s human, ain’t it…”

Mako turned back to the table and stove, looking at the skillets full of unknown slabs of simmering meat, still quietly sizzling on the burner amidst pops of oil. He felt his own stomach do a somersault, realizing Jamie was right. The mutants must have used remnants of past victims to lure in new ones.

“Ugh…I’m gonna be sick...” Jamie mumbled, pulling his knees up and pressing his head into them.

“No, no no, Jamie, you can’t, you’ll lose the only thing you’ve eaten in days…” Mako pleaded, rubbing the boy’s back. He could feel the pattern of bumps for each part of Jamie’s spine.

“M-mmm…”

“Come on, Jamie…you need t’rest…”

Mako sunk into the couch beside Jamie, allowing the blond to place his head down on his lap. The boy was exhausted, visible shadows under his eyes, but he seemingly could not get to sleep. A mixture of pain and fear, most likely.

“…do you want some music?” Mako pressed, resting his hand on Jamie’s back like a warm blanket.

Jamie nodded.

“Let’s see…”

The vampire reached into his satchel, removing the battered old radio that was struggling to stay functional at this point. Mako twiddled with the knobs, searching past the static and flickering voices to try and find some radio station somewhere that still played music. He managed to land one after a few minutes of aimless searching. Classical. A Vivaldi piece by the sound of it - it was hard to tell with the occasional crackles of interference and the skipping of the disc. Finding an audible music station was growing harder and harder. Where there used to be many various channels for different genres, slowly one by one they would pop out of existence, devolving into static or complete silence. The radio towers were destroyed, the offices were looted, or the old cassettes and discs just stopped working one day. The only thing harder than finding functional music to listen to was trying to pinpoint a broadcast from another person - signals from handcrafted radios cobbled together with wires and batteries were too weak to transmit far, and those that did were too often just a garble of unintelligible, desperate words.

A soft sigh interrupted Mako’s thoughts. He glanced down at his lap and found Jamison asleep, tired eyelids twitching ever so slightly as the fingers of his left hand tangled themselves in the vampire’s cargo pants. Mako gently rubbed his thumb against Jamie’s cheek reassuringly as he looked at the faux-bandages around the boy’s ankle. They were already saturated with red blotches.

The blade had been rusty.

Tetanus was not unfamiliar to Mako. Peggy had trod on a rusty nail once while playing in the yard - he had always warned her about going out barefoot. Of course, in those days, it was easy - a vaccine shot and a round of antibiotics. She never even broke a fever, though she was more cautious about wearing sneakers outside after that. But that was before the gas. Mako had not found a medical professional in the wasteland in at least three years - most had evacuated during the first year of the vampire outbreaks, and those who were left were often either killed or held hostage by camps, to provide care to their members. Traveling medics were few and far between, and the likelihood one had clean dressings and antiseptic wipes, let alone a tetanus vaccine or antibiotics, was borderline impossible, especially 15 years after the start of the scourge. Whatever hospitals were left would also be long since looted, and there definitely were not any around here in the wilderness.

Mako bit his lip, grip on Jamie’s small frame tightening and betraying the terror behind his stoic frame. What would he do once the first symptoms of infection started? Should he bother listening to Jamie, and just cut his leg off without consent to save the boy’s life? Or would that just make matters worse without a way to keep the amputated limb clean? He could use the fire from the stove, but what if the toxin was already sweeping through the boy’s bloodstream, a ticking time bomb that nothing could save now?

What if it was too late?

Mako sat, stewing in his own fearful thoughts, for hours. The broken clock held no indication of the passage of time, but the slow lightening of the sky outside told him how early it must be. Breathing a sigh, he leaned back a bit and closed his eyes, knowing he should at least try to rest.

Barely had he taken a breath when the radio began to fizzle more, overwhelmed with interference. Mako opened an eye blearily and reached over, fiddling with the knobs to try and find the station again.

“Come on…come on, dammit…” he muttered, turning the knob clockwise and counterclockwise and watching the small arrow move back and forth between the numbers on the display.

“… _we - this message - anyone who is - please listen -_ ”

Mako blinked, slowing his movements to pinpoint the source.

“ _For all - this is an em-gency br-cast - we repeat - is an emergency broadcast for all survivors listening on the east coast of Australia. That is the EAST coast._ ”

Mako blinked, mentally picturing where they were. Somewhere in Queensland, probably on the eastern half. They had been through the remnants of Alice Springs a few weeks ago. They were most likely near Rockhampton at this point.

“ _There will be a barge arr-ing in Brisbane in one week. That’s Brisbane, everyone. In s-ven days. We will attempt - as many refugees as we can, but space is limited._ ”

Mako’s eyes widened. A rescue effort?

“Jamie. Jamie, wake up,” he urged, gently shaking the boy awake. Jamison stirred, weakly lifting his head.

“Wot…”

“Listen.”

“ _Once again - a barge boat will be - in Brisbane in seven days. We urge any survivors to - there. This is not a -_ ”

The voice fizzled over with static, before winking out of existence. Jamison looked up at Mako.

“Ya think it’s real?”

“Had to be. No one else can get a radio signal that strong.”

“So…wot, then?”

“We’re getting’ on that boat.”

Jamie made a noise in his throat.

“Mako -”

“They’ll have doctors. Or they’ll get us to one. They’ll fix yer leg. We won’t have to be in this hellhole GAFA anymore, Jamie.”

“It’s too far…I can’t walk, at least not well…we’ll never make it in time…”

“I’ve walked it before. It’ll take six days or so with stops. I can carry you. We’ll make it, Jamie, we will. This is our only shot. It’s been 15 years and they never came back for us - ya wanna wait another 15 to see if they try again?”

Jamison winced, swallowing hard.

“What if we get there and somethin’ happens…?”

“We’ll never know unless we try, Jamie. Please. I can’t -”

Mako cut himself off - sending the blond into a panic by insinuating he would die was the last thing they needed right now.

“We have to try.”

Jamie’s orange eyes met Mako’s red ones. He held the gaze for a second, before dropping it.

“Fine…we’ll give it a fair go…”

“Attaboy…” Mako cooed, grabbing the radio and stuffing it into his satchel, “Let’s grab some supplies and get goin’. Fast.”

Jamie managed to get to his feet, though it was clear each step was incredibly difficult for him to take, limping in an almost exaggerated way. He pushed the slabs of meat far away with a disgusted expression, but gathered as many of the bread rolls as he could carry from the buffet to bring along, wrapping them in one of the big cloth napkins for safekeeping before placing them in the satchel. Mako meanwhile had filled their canteens with water - he brought Jamie’s clothes back from the bathroom and helped him dress. On an afterthought, he went back and grabbed the remainder of the bedsheet he had used for the bandages and fashioned it into some half-assed parka for Jamie to wear, for warmth. He draped it over the boy’s shoulders and tied a knot to secure it in place.

“You ready?” Mako asked. Jamison nodded, raising his arms up for the vampire to lift him. Mako gently set the boy on his back, waiting until he was sure Jamie had a good grip on his shoulders before moving his hands down to hold the blond’s spindly long legs.

“We’re gonna make it, Jamie. I promise.”

Jamie nodded weakly.

“Let’s go…”

* * *

 

_Mako’s Journal_

_5,411 days since outbreak._

_815 days since last human sighting (besides Jamison)._

_We’ve been walking for about two days. Still got a ways to go, but it looks like we’ll make it just in time for the ship. Jamie hasn’t shown any symptoms yet, but it’s just a matter of time at this point. I pray that he’ll at least be able to hold out until we get to the barge. We_ _will_ _get him medicine. We have to._

_Today’s pig is the mangalica. Fluffy, fuzzy, cloudlike._

 

Mako was shaken from his writing by the sound of a groan. Jamie was awake. They had only stopped for a few hours to rest by a fire, so the boy could lay down instead of clinging weakly to Mako’s back for a while.

“Jamie? How do you feel?” Mako asked, putting his notepad away and scooting over to feel the blond’s forehead. Still cold. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Achy…” Jamie mumbled. His left arm was occasionally jostled by a twitch that seemed to run the entire length of his arm.

“Shit…” Mako said, holding the boy’s slender arm in his hand and watching it spasm.

“Wot?”

“Nothin’, just, uh…eat.”

Mako retrieved a roll from his bag and handed it to Jamie to eat.

“…mmm…not hungry…”

“You have to eat, keep up yer strength. We’ve still got four days to walk.”

Jamie made a begrudging sigh and forced himself to sit up, nibbling at the bread. He seemed to have trouble swallowing, breaking out into coughing fits as he forced down the small chunks of bread. Mako winced each time.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough…” Mako murmured when Jamie managed to get halfway through the roll. He put it away and lifted up the boy, carrying him bridal-style this time.

“I’m not a baby, Mako…” Jamie mumbled, though he obligingly wrapped his left arm around Mako’s neck.

“Ya shouldn’t be exertin’ yerself,” Mako pressed, re-adjusting his grip, “Come on, we’re gonna keep goin’.”

Along with being the only tier of vampire to be able to pass on the disease, only Masters had the strength and speed commonly associated with the fabled image of the blood-sucking monsters. Thralls like Mako were only slightly faster and stronger than their human counterparts, and for someone of his size, the increase in speed was hardly noticeable. Mako mentally cursed the behavior of the virus - he needed to be faster. Jamie needed help, soon.

“Rest. Ya need it,” he instructed. Jamie made a noncommittal grunt before closing his eyes and pressing his face into Mako’s belly. The bigger man’s lumbering acted like a pseudo-rocking motion.

They continued on like this, minutes bleeding into hours into days. Their only indication of time was the passage of the hot sun, up and down in the sky. Jamie’s twitching arm never ceased.

On the evening of the fourth day, Mako was leaning against a skeletal tree, eyes closed in some faux sense of sleep, when he was jolted awake by the feeling of something press up against him. He glanced down, and found Jamie curled up against his broad side, wrapping his parka tighter around his bare shoulders as he shuddered and shook.

“Jamie…?”

“C-c-cold…”

Mako swallowed hard, then gently moved his hand down, pressing his thumb against Jamie’s forehead.

It was hot.

* * *

 

On the fifth day, Jamie was too weak to cling to Mako’s back, constantly slipping off. The vampire ended up returning to carrying him in his hands - as much as he hated not having a limb free to grab his hook or machete if they were attacked, Jamison was more important. The boy tossed and turned in his hands, making groans as violent spasms ran through his body. In his attempts to be gentle with the blond, Mako found he had inadvertently started walking much, much slower.

He was afraid to leave the boy alone to go hunting, but his bloodlust overpowered him - Mako returned in half an hour, wiping the blood from his lips, and neglected to tell the sleeping boy that the source had been rats this time. He was just relieved Jamie was in the same position he had left him in.

On the sixth evening, Jamie could barely eat. His jaw did not obey him, clenching and unclenching uncontrollably. Mako tried to give him some bread soaked in water, but the boy could not swallow, choking and coughing on the stuff. Both of them gave up at that point, opting to huddle together by the fire in some vain attempt to keep warm. Against Mako’s cold thumb, Jamie’s fever just seemed to get higher and higher. Neither of them slept that night.

The next morning, Mako had only carried Jamie for roughly an hour when he heard a sound. A foghorn. The smell of salty seawater was thick in the air.

“Jamie…you hear that…?”

The boy weakly lifted his head, neck stiff and rigid.

“We’re almost there…”

Mako pushed forward, moving as fast as he could without jostling the boy. Jamie’s body was hypersensitive, lapsing into painful spasms at the slightest stimulus. Mako had opted to start holding him still, with his big hands acting as soft clamps - if he did not, he was sure the boy could break a bone from his jerkish motions. He pressed on, trying not to think about it. There was a small hill to climb, which took great effort from Mako to do without dropping the boy, but he managed amidst asthmatic gasps.

When he breached the lip of the hill and looked out, the sight before them was a dystopian nightmare of the highest caliber.

There were thousands of them. Survivors. Swarming the haphazard remains of the docks, clutching their meager belongings, supporting their injured comrades, herding tiny children somehow born into this hellish nightmare of a continent, shouting in desperation for the boaters to let them on board. Even on a barge of this size, there was no way that many people would fit. The boat was already brimming as those struggling to manage the horde shouted into megaphones to try and keep people placated.

“Shit…we’re late…” Mako muttered, the cool sea air whipping up his gray locks as he carefully crept down the hill and pushed his way through the crowd. He was thankful that his size and strength made this easy, despite the enraged protests of people around him.

“Everyone must come on separately!” one of the saps overlooking the crowd struggled to shout, “No one can be carried or supported in except for infants! No exceptions!”

Loudly despairing mothers set down their toddlers, grabbing their hands in a vice-like grip as they struggled towards the boat entrance. Men supporting their limbless friends, bandaged up like mummies, begrudgingly relinquished their holds. Mako narrowed his eyes, but obeyed, gently lowering Jamie’s legs.

“Can you walk?”

“I…can try…” Jamie muttered through clenched teeth, trying to stand up. He was leaning aggressively on his left leg, trying to keep the weight off his injured right one, and his face was slick with sweat from the fever. The spasms shook his body much harder when he was upright.

“Hold me hand and don’t let go,” Mako instructed, gripping Jamison’s left hand tight, “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

The boy made a weak noise, limping after Mako as best he could as they pushed to the front of the crowd. They were so close, the vampire could taste it. Freedom. They would get off the continent, Jamie would get help, everything would be -

“Out of me way!” snapped a voice. Mako felt Jamie be ripped away from him with a loud cry, and glanced back in panic - someone had grabbed the blond by his hair and thrown him to the ground, out of reach. He was not getting up.

“Jamison -!”

Mako moved instinctively to grab the boy, but he was too far, and the increasingly desperate crowd kept jostling him back. Jamie was trying to prop himself up on his elbow, but he was far too weak, too susceptible to being trampled by the crowd.

Mako’s head jerked back at the boat. The announcer was saying they were almost out of space, inciting more of the survivors to start scrambling over each other, trying to get on, throwing their kids to other people to try and force them on the boat. The foghorns were sounding - it would leave, soon.

He could leave the boy.

Mako clenched his fists, shaking.

He could leave Jamie behind. Get on the barge alone, make it somewhere else, somewhere better.

“M-Mako…!”

Jamie was reaching for him with his shaking hand, crying out his name.

He could leave the boy.

Mako shut his eyes tight.

 

_Please, don’t leave me, daddy..._

_I would never leave you…I promise…_

 

Mako took a deep breath.

No, he would not leave Jamison. He _couldn’t._

He pushed his way back through the crowd, grabbing Jamie and lifting him up.

“It’s okay, I gotcha…it’s okay, Jamie…” he cooed, keeping the boy in a tight hug as the foghorns continued to blare. The boat was beginning to move away from the docks, people desperately throwing themselves into the water in their attempts to get on.

“I-I’m sorry…” Jamie half-sobbed. His face was wet.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay…come on, let’s get out of here…”

Mako kept Jamie in a tight grip as he started walking down the old remnants of the boardwalk. He knew that this many strangers in one space, spurned from not making it onto the boat and desperate for supplies, would not hesitate to tear each other apart for resources. The further he and Jamison got from the impending bloodbath, the better.

That was hardly the pressing thought on Mako’s mind, though. They had missed the barge. They were still stuck on the damned continent, without medicine nor food. Mako could not lie to himself anymore.

Jamison was dying.

* * *

 

Mako walked slowly, carrying Jamie into the nearby skeleton of Brisbane. It had long since been looted, destroyed, purged of resources and life alike. What was once a beautiful and populous city known for its waterways and architecture was now a shell of its former self, with half-flooded streets and debris littering the walkways. There seemed to be no place for neither vampires to nest nor humans to shelter - just an empty, silent expanse.

Mako waded through ankle-deep water, holding Jamie close. The boy’s breathing was raspy and labored, his grip on Mako weak, his face buried into the vampire’s shoulder as he shook and twitched. His body was far too exhausted to even convulse properly at this point, though it certainly tried. Mako exhaled slowly.

There was a bench, overlooking one of the old waterways. Mako sank into it, gently lowering Jamie down beside him and watching the feverish blond curl up a bit, seeking warmth. The tiredness was palpable in his face, the way his ribs jutted out of his body with each pneumonic breath, the way his brows remained furrowed and his left hand remained clenched through each body-shaking tremor.

Mako was out of ideas - the only thing in his mind was misery. Fifteen years ago, he had lost his daughter. Now, he was going to lose Jamison too. He would watch the boy wither away and succumb, just like he had watched Peggy do the same. He was crying at this point, big, silent tears oozing down his cheeks and soaking into the pink bandana around his mouth. He had failed another child.

Mako hardly ever broke his stoic exterior, but this time he had to - he put his head in his hands and began to sob openly.

There was a sound, faint. At first Mako mistook it for a bug humming around his head, but the volume continued to increase. He lifted his head up, blinking tiredly, and made a start.

_A helicopter…?_

It was not like the mental image Mako had of a helicopter - this was white, with blue decals, and some unknown O-shaped logo decorating the side. It whirred along, the rotations of the rotor blades kicking up wind and making the vampire’s hair fly. It flew overhead before landing behind a nearby skyscraper that had long since been destroyed.

Mako was rooted to the spot, mind racing. He had no idea who those people were, but they had a _helicopter_. They had to have supplies. Medicine. But what if they were bloodthirsty, looking to kill the two of them? What then? He clenched the sides of the bench, reeling. Jamie moaned softly in his pseudo-sleep, curling up more. Mako looked down at him, biting his lip hard enough to bleed.

_I have to try. Jamie needs help._

He slowly slid his hands under the boy’s emaciated frame and picked him up, holding him close as he lumbered in the direction of the helicopter. He gripped Jamie tight, protective, and felt the blond curl into him a little.

As Mako rounded the corner of the building, slowly looking to find where the helicopter had landed, he could see three people. A tall, ape-ish man with thick dark hair adorning his head and arms, pushing a pair of glasses further up his nose as he scribbled onto a clipboard. Beside him was another man with graying hair, barking indistinctly like some sort of army general. The third was a thin woman with a head of blonde hair tied up into a ponytail. All three were clean, well-dressed. Clearly scientists, or army. Mako took a deep breath, gripping Jamie tighter. Was this a good idea?

“…back to the main base, and then get ready for the travel home,” the gray-haired man was saying, “We’ve got all the information we need. I am _not_ leaving those Blackwatch boys alone at the headquarters any longer.”

“There’s still a lot to understand about the nature of these vampires and their lack of sun aversion,” the tallest one responded somberly, “We should continue to monitor the populace…”

“We are here to help these people…” the woman piped up, voice soft.

Mako was hesitant, unsure what he should do. His pulse was racing, heart beating a steady tattoo against his ribs.

_Say something. One could be a doctor. Say something!_

But the words hitched in Mako’s throat. He shifted in place, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to -

_Clink clink._

A half-broken glass bottle skittered along the cracked pavement, disturbed by his foot. Mako froze as the three strangers whipped around. The gray-haired one immediately grabbed the rifle from his back, aiming it right at the vampire and his partner.

“Hold it right there! Hands, up!” he demanded. Mako swallowed hard, stock-still. His gaze dropped down to the sleeping Jamison he was holding, then back up to the man, as if to indicate he was physically incapable of obeying.

“Wait, Jack, he has something…” the woman murmured, gripping the man’s arm. He shook her off.

“Who are you?!”

“…M...Mako Rutledge…” the vampire responded, voice raspy from the dryness of his throat. He was thankful he had the bandana on his mouth to cover his tusks.

“And what are you doing here?”

Mako made a noise in his throat, a number of snarky responses entering his head.

“…survivin’…” he decided on.

“How did you find us? Where did you -?!”

“Is he hurt…?” the woman interrupted, looking down at Jamie as he twitched in his sleep.

“…tetanus,” Mako rumbled. The woman pursed her lips, expression one of concern. He could see the medic armband she was wearing from here.

“You’d better move along,” the man growled, cocking his gun. The woman shot him an angry look.

“P-please, he’s…he’s dyin’…” Mako all but begged, feeling his eyes well up again. As if to punctuate his point, Jamie made a shuddering groan and shifted, tremors running up and down his arms. His labored breathing was loud enough to be heard by the woman, who was moving closer to Mako.

“Angela!” the man snapped, “What are you doing?!”

“He’s just a boy, we can’t let him die,” she said softly, coming closer. She craned her neck to look up at the vampire, her soft blue eyes meeting his muted red ones.

“May I…?”

“Yeah…yeah…”

She gently took his pulse and felt his forehead, withdrawing her slender fingers almost immediately from the heat. She faintly reminded Mako of a faerie.

“He has a high temperature, Jack…” she called back to the man, “We have tetanus antitoxin at the base, we can -”

“Those are _our_ resources, Angela,” the man named Jack spat. She furrowed her brow and folded her arms.

“Winston, reason with him.”

The apelike man who had not yet spoken jumped a bit, clearing his throat.

“W-well, um…we _are_ here to help people, and…Mister…Rutledge…? …he has not caused us any trouble…”

“What makes them so special, Angela? You know there are many others who could use your help far more.”

The doctor’s expression became that of sorrow.

“There are so many that I could not help them all, even if I tried…we could not even begin to _find_ them all…but…”

She turned back to Mako, eyes shining.

“He sought us out…the boy will die like this, I can’t just turn them away…”

Mako felt a weird tightness in his chest as she looked back at Jack again.

“Please,” she said, tone both pleading and firm. Jack looked at her long and hard, but eventually lowered his weapon.

“Hurry up, then.”

The woman named Angela turned back to Mako, smiling.

“Come, Mister Rutledge, we will help your boy.”

Mako breathed a sigh of relief, his legs seeming to turn to jelly as he followed the doctor onto the helicopter. He cuddled Jamie close, murmuring reassuringly in the sleeping blond’s ear.

_It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay._

* * *

 

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Jamie made a soft noise, eyelids fluttering open. His vision was blurred with exhaustion - the only thing he was really aware of was that there was a strand of hair hovering over his face. He summoned a breath and puffed it up at the tuft, watching it flap upward. The room he was in was white - that was all he could discern. He closed his eyes again, making a wordless mumble in his half-dozing state.

“…ison…?”

He forced his eyes open again, searching for the source of the sound.

“..ami…? …ar me…?”

Jamison felt vaguely concussed, as if he had been unconscious for weeks and was just barely coming out of his stupor. He squinted a bit at the speaker - she had blond hair, blue eyes…

“…m...mum…?” the word forced itself out before he could stop it. The woman was visibly taken aback, but quickly regained her composure as someone else entered Jamison’s minute field of view. This one was big, and had an indiscernible blob of pink on his face. He was saying something but it sounded like it was being shouted at Jamie through the water of a pool. Muted and garbled.

“…amiso…?”

Jamie made an exhausted noise deep in his throat and felt his eyelids tug themselves down of their own accord.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep…

The second time Jamison awoke, the numbness pervading his body seemed to have ebbed away. He could feel his left fingers twitching, feeling his left toes curling. The only place he still had no feeling was his right leg. He made a soft noise, struggling to sit up, but found he still did not have the energy to pull himself up all the way, flopping back against the pillows with a grunt of pain.

“Jamison?”

He cocked his head to the right, looking for the voice. It was Mako. He looked…different. He could not put his finger on what exactly it was.

“How do you feel…?” Mako ventured, coming closer and feeling the boy’s forehead. It was cold.

“Mmm…tired…sore a bit too…where are we…?”

Mako looked around.

“We’re in, uh…a hospital…”

“A real one?” Jamison was awed.

“I don’t wanna overwhelm you, but, we were picked up…saved…doesn’t matter what it was, you’re goin’ to be safe now…you're already gettin’ over the tetanus…”

Jamie realized what was the big difference in Mako’s appearance - he was clean. The vampire’s sallow skin was freed of the copious layers of filth, his hair lighter in color without the grime that that usually clung to it, wearing a new shirt and pants in place of his ratty old cargo pants.

Mako had noticed him staring.

“Once you’re well, we’ll get you a bath too.”

Jamie made a faint smile, which quickly vanished when he heard the clicking of heels on tile. He glanced over and saw a woman, tall and thin with a blonde ponytail, approaching him. She smiled gently.

“Hello, Jamison…how do you feel…?”

“…’m fine…who are ya…?”

“My name is Doctor Ziegler…you can call me Angela…I’ve been taking care of you since we met Mister Rutledge…”

She took his vitals as she talked, touch soft and careful. Jamie followed her movements with his bright orange eyes, a little cautious.

“Ya ain’t gonna hurt us…?”

“Jamison.”

The doctor smiled.

“No need to reprimand him, Mister Rutledge, I’m sure he has every reason to be skeptical…no, Jamison, we will not hurt you.”

Angela adjusted the blankets, looking at something intently. Her expression soured to that of a grim frown.

“What’s the matter?” Jamison pressed. Angela glanced up at Mako, who took a deep breath.

“Yer leg...we were able t’save you from the tetanus, and you will get better, but, yer leg…there was so much shit in the wound that…the tissue started t’die…”

Jamie paled.

“We’ve been administering antibiotics for quite a while, Jamison, but it doesn’t look like recovery is possible…which means…”

Her voice faltered, leaving Jamie to recede into his blankets.

“Please no…it hurt s-so bad the first time…”

“This time will be different, Jamie…” Mako reassured, “You won’t feel a thing…”

“We have very good anesthesia, you won’t have any pain,” Angela added, “And, if it makes you feel more inclined, our engineers can make you a set of prosthetic limbs. Not just for your leg, but for your arm as well.”

Jamison blinked.

“What’s a… _prus-thet-ick_?”

“Fake limb,” Mako rumbled, “You could have an arm again. And a leg.”

Jamie’s eyes widened.

“…really...?”

The doctor nodded. “Take your time deciding, I know it’s not easy…”

Jamison glanced down at his numb leg.

“And if I don’t…?”

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to walk again…and the infection stands the risk of becoming resistant and spreading…if it spreads higher, we may have to amputate anyway, and this time take even more of the leg…”

The blond winced.

“…okay, but…” he looked up at Mako, “Ya will stay with me, right?”

Mako nodded, taking Jamie’s little hand in his big one.

“Of course I will.”

Jamison set his jaw.

“Then let’s do it…”

After Angela ran through the various aspects of the procedure with Jamie and ensured he was in good enough condition to undergo the surgery, she began to prepare herself and Mako. When she returned from gowning with a surgical mask and full scrubs, hair hidden in a tight hairnet, he almost mistook her for another person entirely.

“Ready, Jamison?” she asked, once she had prepared the anesthesia. The boy pursed his lips and nodded.

“This will make you laugh - don’t worry, that’s normal,” Angela reassured, pressing the mask to Jamie’s mouth and nose. After a few seconds of inhaling the gas, he broke into uncontrollable giggles, enough to make his grip on Mako’s hand weaken a little. The vampire could not help but smile - it was good to see the boy laugh, even if it was forced. After a few moments, Jamison conked out completely, falling deeply asleep. His hold relaxed, allowing Mako to draw his hand away.

“I’ll let you know once the procedure is done, Mister Rutledge,” Angela said with a nod, as Mako got up to leave. He made a grunt of assent before moving towards the door, then slowed.

“…Mako.”

Angela moved her head up.

“Hmm?”

“Call me Mako.”

“…alright. Mako.”

He could tell she was smiling behind the surgical mask. He smiled behind his bandana as well, just a little, before heading out.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

The punch to Lúcio’s sternum hurt almost as much as the feeling of his ribs cracking and breaking as he smashed against the concrete wall and slumped to the floor. His breathing was ragged as he weakly craned his neck up to look at his assailant. The bald man towered over him, red eyes peering down at Lúcio with a seemingly cruel intent.

“…is that the best you can do, Santos?”

Lúcio spat, feeling his bones slowly repairing themselves. He hauled himself up, running his tongue over his lips to collect the blood gushing from his split lip and bleeding nose, as Sombra moved over, handing him a blood-bag to drink from. Akande was rebandaging his knuckles, looking over at Lúcio with a smirk.

“I wasn’t expecting it…” the smaller Thrall mumbled, itching at his own hands and glaring at the red blotches on the knuckles of his hand-wraps.

“Are you two brawling again?” came a deep, foreboding voice. Gabriel was coming down the stairs, boots thudding hard against the steps. Judging by the clicks following him, so was Amélie.

“Sorry, boss, but if he keeps going to that stupid fight club every day, he _needs_ to learn a few moves,” Akande protested.

“He can learn them without you breaking our shelter,” Gabriel retorted, hand resting on Amélie’s hip. Her piercing yellow irises fell on Lúcio - most Ghouls had soulless eyes, but hers had pupils. Lúcio would never understand what odd idea had possessed his Master Reyes to feed the woman vampire blood, but it had mutated her into some sentient variant of a Ghoul. Despite that, she never spoke, lips permanently pursed as she scrutinized those around her.

Gabriel had moved over, gently cupping Lúcio’s face and running a clawed thumb down his lips.

“Besides, you’re bruising my favorite Thrall’s beautiful face…”

Lúcio did not speak, quietly tolerating the caresses. One would think in ten years his heart would have warmed to his Master, but he could not summon a drop of affection for the man who had Turned him all those years ago. Just cold, polite obedience.

“I thought I was your favorite,” Sombra piped up playfully, sensing Lúcio’s bristling. She always did look out for him like that.

“First does not mean favorite, Sombra,” Gabriel rumbled, relinquishing his hold on Lúcio, “Whose turn it is it to milk the cattle?”

“Lúcio’s,” Akande said, using a rag to wipe some stray blood from the floor, “I was last week.”

“Ugh…”

The smallest Thrall pulled on his hoodie and grabbed the basket with the blood extraction tools they used, carrying it down into the furthest parts of the basement. Rows of cage doors glinted back at him as he turned on the flickering fluorescent lights. They cast an eerie, artificial light on the room that made everything feel weirdly sterile. Lúcio did his best to ignore it as he unlocked the cell on the far end.

The monk lifted his head, eyes slowly opening and gazing coolly at the Thrall. His skin was riddled with bruises - Akande was always so rough when he took blood, but Zenyatta smiled to see Lúcio.

“Peace be upon you…” he said, voice soft, “I’m glad it’s you this week.”

Lúcio did not speak. He was unsure anything he could say would excuse what he was to do. The monk had already offered his arm out. He was unchained, unlike most cattle they had had. This one had never fought, never screamed - just meditated. They did not even need to fear that it was a ruse and that he was planning to run the second the cell door was unlocked. After all, one could not run when paralyzed from the waist down.

“I’m sorry about this…” Lúcio eventually murmured, as he wrapped the tourniquet in the right spot, pressing his fingers against the monk’s tan skin until he could see a vein amongst the other dots of past ‘milkings’. He readied the needle and pierced the skin with it, drawing the blood in repeated motions. He was able to glean nearly two pints from the placid cattle before he made a tiny sound of protest. Lúcio released the monk’s arm and bandaged the wound carefully with clean gauze.

“I’ll come down later with some food for you,” he mumbled, looking up. Zenyatta nodded quietly, tired eyes struggling to stay open.

“You have good discipline…a firm grip but a gentle hand…” he said quietly, moving his fingers into their near-permanent meditation poses. He always spouted some fortune cookie-esque comment whenever Lúcio took blood - with Sombra it was usually some mention about her “aura”, and with Akande he remained silent, tolerating the biggest Thrall’s bone-breaking grip as he took far too much blood each time and left the monk shivering on the cot.

Lúcio shook the thoughts from his mind as he wrapped the blanket around Zenyatta’s shoulders and left him to rest. He delivered the blood he had drawn to the fridge after labelling the dates, then replenished and replaced the basket for next week before retiring to his room. It was barely the size of a college single dorm room - enough room for a wardrobe, a desk, and a bed that barely saw use. Lúcio had other plans for his room at that moment. He unlocked and swung open the window and clambered out onto the roof, climbing up to the top of the condemned warehouse they called home. The sun would be rising soon, a glimmer of yellow and orange on the horizon. It reminded Lúcio of fresh fruit, like the kind his mother would bring - how he longed to taste something like that again, instead of resigning to staring out the burning ball of fire in the distance whose rays would burn him as soon as they touched his skin.

Today, though, the sun did not peer over the distance past the trees. There were too many distant storm clouds, rolling towards the town. There was only a distant blip of light, making Lúcio’s eyes prickle with afterimages when he shut them. He shook his head, resigning himself to defeat, and climbed back down into his room, closing the bottom portion of the window and resting on the sill with a brooding expression.

It was routine. It had become routine from the time he was a Fledgling, like some hopeless, twisted prison. It made the days bleed by at a painfully slow pace. They would sleep peacefully in the day, then at night go out, negotiating with the other vampires and allied humans of the region, capturing possible cattle candidates, attending vampire clubs. Once the heat came down and people came looking for them, they would vanish, moving to another town, another province, another state. Away from there. Then, they would repeat the process all over again. That was the way it had been, for ten years, slowly clawing their way up from Rio de Janeiro up to the States. The only interesting thing to ever happen was Turning Akande in California. The single other Thrall to be Turned since Lúcio joined the Talon clan of vampires. He had fought hard, and with his size it had been difficult for Gabriel to subdue him - that was the only reason he had not drained the largest Thrall. Most other people who crossed Gabriel’s path on the rare occasions he went out were Ghouls by morning.

It still filled Lúcio with some bitter rage that he had been torn away from his family like this. He almost wished he _had_ been drained. At least he would not be sentient to know the pain he was causing his family back in Rio.

“Favorite Thrall…” he snorted derisively, “What bullshit…”

Lúcio sunk into his desk chair, staring out the window at the rolling clouds as they continued to roll in towards the town. He needed some change, something that was not routine. Any change at all. Something to touch his cold, dead heart.

A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter! Any comments/kudos are appreciated greatly. Please stay tuned for the next chapters!  
> Again, I'm really sorry for the delay in this chapter - I hope to have the next ones out faster for you guys! Thank you for being so patient with me. <3
> 
> Follow http://artumndiesirae.tumblr.com/ for chapter updates/art!  
> (Main blog: http://autumndiesirae.tumblr.com/)


	3. New Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can it be? Who sent for me? A better question - why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I LIVE. I'm so so sorry for the massive delay for this chapter, a lot of IRL stuff went down recently ranging from my computer breaking to relationship stuff. Thankfully, I think everything has been mostly settled down. HOPEFULLY, future updates will be a little faster. Thank you all so much for your patience.
> 
> EDIT (17 May 2018) - added Mako's pig of the day to the journal.

                                                           

* * *

 

Jamison recovered from the surgery “with flying colors”, according to Angela. He was sitting up and eating soon after the surgery, very slowly chewing the warm panini with melted cheese and fresh tomatoes that she had made him, constantly glancing up to reaffirm that the ingredients were real. Mako felt a twinge of bittersweet sadness in his gut that the boy who had suffered in the post-vampire wasteland since he was barely ten was so in awe of something as simple as a grilled cheese sandwich - then again, he was sure Jamie barely remembered eating something that did not come from a can, wrapper, or an emaciated wild animal in the past 15 years.

Much in the same way Jamison all but worshipped the warm, delicious foods that Angela gave him, he similarly adored the hospital bed he slept in. It took a great deal of convincing for Mako to rouse him in the mornings to do some light physical therapy.

“Mmmnooo…” Jamie would moan, burying his face deeper into the pillow as Mako gently prodded him, persistent, “So comfy…”

“I know, but you need to do yer movements. You can sleep after.”

Once Jamie was finished with his stretches, sitting on the edge of the cot and unfurling his crackling joints repeatedly, Mako would help him swing his legs back into bed and wrap the blankets around him gently, watching the boy sink deep into the sheets and drift back to sleep. He looked so peaceful as he napped, aside from the gentle twitches of his eyelids.

Later during the day, typically after lunch, a Mister Lindholm, the chief engineer, would come by to measure Jamison’s arm and leg and make notes for the prosthesis fittings. Both Aussies were surprised by the Swede’s size - they were sure their necks would forever ache from being craned down so much to listen to the dwarf and his near-constant sputtering. That being said, both were willing to take the brief inconvenience knowing it would soon bring Jamie a new set of functioning limbs. Every time the thought passed the boy’s mind, he would wiggle in excitement. It was a good distraction for Mako, something to briefly tear his mind away from his near-constant paranoia that the members of Overwatch knew what he was. It was easy enough to hide it - keeping his tusks covered, averting his gaze from those he spoke to, popping the collars of his shirts to hide the neck scars - but he would soon be faced with the need to feed, and he was running out of time to establish from what.

The hunger came, soon enough. The twinging and moaning of Mako’s gut, desperate for blood, could not be ignored any longer. He made his way out of the base, hoping to sneak into the nearby forest and snatch a wild animal, but found his progress barred. There were watchtowers, occupied, at all ends of the compound, and guards patrolling the doorways, keeping the vampires out - and this one, in. Mako grunted in irritation, rubbing his neck. He needed to feed, soon…

Wandering back through the hallways of the base, he bit his lip, wracking his brains to figure out where he could get something to eat. He hated the thought of having to feed on a human - he simply could not betray himself like that. It was hard enough to kill so many innocent rats and birds, but the damage he could cause to a human made his stomach twist and turn on itself from the thought, despite its hunger.

 _God has a sick sense of humor to turn a vegetarian into a vampire,_ Mako thought as he returned to the infirmary, glancing at the sleeping Jamison. He knew the boy would be more than willing to give blood for him, but the thought still made him sick. Even remembering how Jamie had fed him after they were attacked by the mutant trio back in the cottage caused nausea to bubble up in his throat. He leaned on the wall, absently following the trail of Jamie’s IV drip up to the bag of solution hanging on the hook.

_…bag…_

Mako’s eyes travelled to the storage room in the back. There were blood bags in there - he had seen Dr. Ziegler take one for Jamison. He knew morally he should not be taking the precious resource from the people who had been so hospitable towards him, but he also knew the longer he waited the more likely he was to go into a Frenzy, and by that point the entire base would know what he was.

Perhaps if he was…discreet…

The next day, as Mako was helping Jamie stand up on his lone leg, supporting him from one side as he leaned heavily on a crutch, he overheard Angela as she walked by, jotting notes on a clipboard with a furrowed brow.

“I was sure I had two more blood bags in the storage room…” she was muttering under her breath. Jamison shot Mako a knowing look, smirking as the vampire’s ears turned slightly pink.

“Must have miscounted…” the doctor finished her thought, tucking the pen behind her ear as she deposited the packet of notes in the bin on her desk labelled “OUT”. When she walked back to the gowning area to undress, the clicking of her heels echoed up to Mako.

“Earth t’Mako,” Jamie snarked, startling the bigger man out of his stupor.

“Sorry,” he muttered, helping the boy back to the bed.

When just over a week had passed since the surgery and Angela deemed Jamie to be healthy enough to leave the infirmary, she and Mako gently helped the boy into a wheelchair and led him to a small two-bed dorm room where the two would be allowed to stay. One bed was already disturbed, the sheets slightly askew under the neatly folded blanket, with a few things littering the desk that accompanied it, while the other was untouched, awaiting Jamison.

“You should be washed,” Mako grunted. Aside from occasional bathing in the less-polluted rivers they came across and the exceedingly rare opportunity of finding a working shower, the two had hardly ever had a chance to clean up since the outbreak, and soap was a luxury neither had come across in a long, long time. It had taken a hefty hour for Mako to scrub himself clean when they had arrived at the secret home of these scientists - he was sure it would take longer for Jamie.

“Yes, I agree…” Angela chimed in, “But I am unsure if it would be wise to leave you alone to wash yourself, Jamison. There are no tubs in the communal showers, and I don’t want you slipping…”

Jamie made a noise in his throat, also anxious of the thought. He felt so exceedingly lopsided without either of his right limbs.

“…there are private bathrooms upstairs in the agent headquarters. I could take you up there, if you’d like,” Angela offered, gentle hands stroking the boy’s matted hair.

“I wouldn’t want you t’get in trouble,” Mako said, scratching absently at the surgical mask he had opted to wear in place of Peggy’s handkerchief. The pink square of fabric hung, washed and soft, around his neck at the moment - he had long since forgotten that it had a pattern of dancing pigs along the rim. Time and filth had long since worn it down to be but a ghostly texture, barely visible unless you were looking for it.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble, Mako,” she reassured, “You can come join us if you’d like.”

The vampire glanced down at Jamie, gauging his expression. He did not look as tense as expected, returning Mako’s gaze evenly.

“…you want me to come?” he asked. Jamie ran his tongue over his lips, then shook his head.

“Eh, ’s fine,” he said, “If she wanted t’kill us she’d have tried already, methinks.”

“Jamison!” Mako admonished, looking at Angela apologetically.

“What? It’s a compliment!” Jamie said cheekily.

Angela made a playfully sour expression to the bigger man before taking Jamison up a few floors, down the hall to a room with a door plaque neatly reading “Angela Ziegler, PhD”. She used her keycard to open the door and gently pushed the boy in.

“We’ll use my room, it’s no trouble,” she said, opening the attached bathroom door and moving to run a bath. Jamie watched, leaning forward a bit, as the water splashed into the tub, slowly filling. The doctor poured a hefty amount of liquid soap in, watching it froth and mix in the turbulent water, before finally shutting it off.

“I wish he had come with me…I hope I don’t drop you…” Angela murmured, moving behind Jamie and untying his hospital gown. It slid down past his shoulders, the top half bunching on his lap. He felt weirdly exposed, a crimson blush sneaking across his face, and yet simultaneously unperturbed.

_She’s a doc, yeah, she’s not gonna look at me like that._

“Alright…here we go…” Angela said, moving back to Jamie’s side and sliding her arms under his, pulling him up slowly and helping him balance on his single leg. As his gown slipped off and crumpled to the floor, Jamison inadvertently felt himself leaning into her, awkwardly resting his chin on her shoulder. She smelled faintly of roses.

“Are you alright, Jamison?” she asked, one hand moving down and resting on the small of his back, as if in some weird, shy hug. Jamie felt a rush of heat to his chest, some long-buried memory tugging at his brain. Something about a much smaller version of himself clinging to a woman whose face was blurry and unrecognizable as she set him down into a similar bath.

“I’m f-fine.”

“Very well…here, I’m going to move you over.”

She gently held him upright and moved closer to the tub, turning slowly and lowering him in. Jamie felt weirdly small, despite the fact that he was so much taller than she was. The warm water covered him up to his midsection, as he looked up at her, watching her roll her sleeves up and kneel down on the tile beside him.

“You tell me if anything needs to be changed, Jamison,” she said, taking the loofah from the side of the tub and soaking it in the water before applying a hefty amount of soap.

For well over an hour, Angela scrubbed him down, all but scraping off hefty layers of filth and watching the sudsy water turn dark brown. Three times the tub had to be drained and refilled before she was done washing the entirety of his body and working her gentle fingers through his thick clumps of dirty hair.

“Your ends are split…” she commented as she tilted his head back and rinsed the third round of shampoo out, “I’ll give you a cut once we’re done…”

“…ya know ya don’t have to do this, mate - mum - ma’am - shit - I’ll shut up now.”

Angela hesitated, then made a soft chuckle, patting his head.

“It’s my pleasure, Jamison.”

After the water ran clear, the doctor drained the tub for the final time and dried Jamie with a warm, fluffy towel before wrapping him a soft robe. She gently supported him back into the wheelchair, watching as he slid his face into the fuzzy hem of the robe, emitting soft purrs.

“You need a shave as well, but I suppose I’ll let you decide that. Let me find some scissors…”

While the boy sat cozily, Angela retrieved a pair of absurdly large scissors from her dresser and began to cut Jamie’s long, frizzy ends down. The chunks of damaged blond hair fell to the tiled floor, collecting underfoot as she made her way around, trimming the tangles away. The matted chunks clung together in protest, and Angela found herself cutting off more than she had bargained for - before long, Jamison’s hair, that had previously been all the way down to the small of his back, was reduced to a collection of spiky protrusions that could just barely be tied together in a ponytail at the top. One smaller piece hung over the boy’s forehead - he kept playfully blowing air up at it and watching it bounce up.

“There…it’s a bit short, but it should be clean and light…” Angela said, holding out a hand mirror for Jamie to look at. He tilted his head, watching the chunks gently wiggle with each movement.

“Looks nice…” he murmured, running the fingers of his left hand through the silky locks. His head felt like it had shed a few pounds.

“Let me get you some clothes as well…and, if I’m not mistaken, your prostheses might be ready…”

Jamie perked up immediately, excited. He had no idea what to expect about getting fake limbs but he was certainly fascinated by the idea. He had forgotten what it was like to have two arms.

After the doctor helped him dress into some fresh, clean clothes - a pair of denim shorts, a loose black tank-top, and black sneakers, one of which she held onto - she rolled him back down to meet Mako, who was waiting in the bedroom still.

“You look like a kid again…” he purred, ruffling Jamison’s hair playfully with his big hand.

“Don’t ya forget, though, I’m 25,” Jamison chuffed.

“I think Torbjörn will be free now. Let’s go see if he has your prostheses ready.”

Jamie made a gleeful peep, wiggling in place, as Mako wheeled him down to the engineering labs, three floors below. His giddiness only grew with each beep of the descending elevator. Angela glanced up at Mako, gauging his reaction, but he was remarkably placid. Only the slight twitch of his cheek betrayed the amusement he felt on Jamison's behalf.

Torbjörn was grumbling when they arrived, as he nearly always was, but a gentle touch from Angela’s cool hand quieted him. He pushed a cart that was taller than he was over with two orange and black prosthetic limbs neatly nestled on top. Jamie made a soft gasp, reaching out his left hand to gingerly stroke them.

The arm and leg were both built with more joints than the average prosthesis, giving the blond a range of motion almost as precise as that of a ‘real’ arm or leg. Both still maintained a futuristic appearance, however, with the black carbon fibre base and shining metal joints. Jamie was reminded of the androids from the comic books he used to read as a kid. Torbjörn began hooking them up, as Mako looked on with wide eyes.

“These are an advanced version of myoelectric prostheses - they use electrodes, so you’ll have greater control over what you can do,” Angela said, “It’ll take a while for you to get used to these, Jamison, but there are a number of ways we can help make it easier. Before long using them will be second nature. Are there any sports you like?”

“…tennis?” Jamie said, only half-listening. He was too enamored by the wiggling of the fingers on his right arm. They were a bit choppier than those of his ‘real’ arm, but certainly better than the previous complete lack. For the first time in ten years, Jamie felt that persistent sense of lopsidedness diminish just a little.

“That should be fine,” Angela nodded, “For now, let’s see how these fit you…”

She and Mako helped him up, balancing him and letting him get used to the snugness and support of the two prosthetic limbs. The copious number of joints made movement flexible and easy to learn, even if the boy felt himself limping a little with each step. Walking came first, traipsing around the engineering lab while gripping Mako’s big hand tightly for support - soon, they moved onto picking things up, testing the communication of Jamie’s remaining muscles through the electrodes. After some practice, he was able to pick up a fork, easily miming eating by bringing it back and forth from his mouth to the table.

“You’re doing very well, Jamison,” Angela said, rubbing his back. Jamie puffed his chest in pride.

“What about cleanin’ ‘em? Are they waterproof?” Mako asked, as the boy fiddled with the fingers of his prosthetic, getting used to controlling them individually.

“Yes, and they can be used in the pool. If Jamison likes swimming he can definitely try that - it will be less strain on his body as well. The main goal is to get used to  -”

“Mako! Mako Mako Mako!”

“What.”

“Look!”

Mako glanced over his shoulder and found that Jamie had taught himself how to raise his middle finger with the prosthesis, wiggling it in the air.

“Ta da!”

“Stop that, there’s a lady present.”

Angela chuckled softly. “I’ve seen far worse, Mako. I’ve spent many years on this team.”

Mako made a grunt, rolling his eyes before turning back to Jamie, who was proudly showing his rude gesture to Torbjörn. The engineer was decidedly unamused.

“You need a shave, by the way. Let’s go.”

“Aw, me fuzzies…” the blond pouted, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels.

* * *

 

For the first time since the two Aussies had been taken in by Overwatch, both came down to eat dinner with the rest of the team. Angela saved the two a space on the bench at the table that she and the other lead members ate at - Mako found himself awkwardly sandwiched between Jamison’s excitable frame and the oversized Dr. Winston’s hairy arms as he picked at some salad and bread, refusing to lower his surgical mark. When no one was looking, he would push a forkful over to Jamie’s plate, as if he had eaten the bite. The one named Morrison kept glancing at him with a suspicious expression, but Mako kept his murky purple eyes glued to the table.

Jamie, conversely, had no qualms about gorging himself on the buffet - not that Mako minded. Perhaps if the boy ate properly for once he would stop walking around with his ribs jutting out of his chest with each breath. And the food genuinely looked good.

Then again, not much could be worse than eating cooked human meat, could it? The memory of that night in the cottage still haunted Mako - he had no idea how Jamie was coping with it.

“We’ll be heading back to our Boston headquarters soon, perhaps tomorrow overnight,” Morrison said as he repeatedly failed to spear an olive with his fork before giving up and using his fingers to pop it into his mouth.

“Have you two ever been?” Angela asked as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. Mako and Jamie both shook their heads in an unintended unison.

“You’re certain they’re coming along?” Morrison pressed. Angela pursed her lips.

“As I have _already_ said, we need all the agents we can find. I see no issue in the matter. And I refuse to let Mako and Jamison back out into the wasteland, not after all we’ve done for them. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

Morrison made a noise in his throat.

“I’m still giving them the entrance exam.”

“But -”

“If they pass, I will have no more qualms about this. But it’s only fair - everyone else has to take it.”

“Without any time to study? Jack -!”

“They’ve lived it. That’s more studying than any other agent can bargain for.”

“ _They_ has a name, y’know,” Jamison mumbled past a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Mako elbowed him sharply.

“...fine. After dinner, then,” Angela conceded, though her tone suggested she was not happy with the arrangement. To be frank, neither was Mako. An exam? What kind? How would Jamie fare? The boy had not even made it to middle school before the virus began to spread. He side-eyed the blond - he certainly looked more anxious now, twiddling his fork in his left hand. The two glanced at each other, sharing the same worried look.

After the mess hall was emptied, Jack and Angela lead both Aussies back upstairs to the computer labs. Jamison was put in Lab A, and Mako was escorted to Lab B.

“M-mmm…” Jamie made a small whine, reaching his hand out to his partner fearfully.

“She’ll be right,” Mako reassured, giving Jamie a small pat before they parted ways.

Once he was in the lab, Jamie’s heart began to pound, a retroactive fear of being separated from his friend. Mako had protected him for ten long years, had saved his life on many occasions. To be away from the Thrall made Jamie’s anxiety grow and expand in his chest like water freezing between the cracks of an old concrete sidewalk, threatening to burst and shatter the seemingly even façade.

The blond chewed his lip, interlacing the fingers of his prosthetic and real hand together as Morrison set up the exam for him. Jamie wrinkled his shirt in his hands as he sank into the soft computer seat, looking at the screen. Jack was nodding curtly at the little popup.

“There’s no time limit. When you’re done, just hit submit. I’ll be outside, but we have camera in here. If you cheat, we will know, so don’t get any ideas.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Jamie’s cheek - it was maddeningly itchy and it took all of his willpower not to swipe at it as he met Jack’s gaze evenly.

“Okay.”

On an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”

Morrison’s mouth curled into a slight smile as he stepped out and closed the door after him. Jamie looked back at the screen, biting his lip as he rested his hand on the mouse, moving it around experimentally to find the cursor. He had some faint memory of playing on children’s art programs and practicing typing on bulky, tan-colored computers back in his elementary school, holding a floppy disk in his hands and being told not to ever put a magnet near it - it seemed that while Australia had regressed into an almost prehistoric era of survival, the rest of the world had sped light-years away, developing technologies the young man had only ever dreamed of. He pressed his left pointer finger against the screen, watching a warped rainbow ripple around the point of pressure. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he lowered his left hand into his lap and moved the cursor over the blue “Start Exam” button, clicking it feebly.

A small tutorial page popped up, that Jamie read through carefully. It told him how to navigate through the questions, of which there were 25. He had to get an 80% or higher to pass - a quick mental calculation told him that there was only room to get 5 wrong. He gulped audibly before moving to the first question.

 

 

> **_What is the name of the retrovirus that is associated with the vampirism disease?_ **  
>  _a) Sanguinare Vampiris_  
>  _b) Noxiphilic Sanguivoria_  
>  _c) Porphyric Hemophilia_  
>  _d) Xeroderma Pigmentosum_

Jamison felt his stomach sink into his shoes. He had no clue that the virus even _had_ a name - he had never paid much attention to the broadcasts on the television, unlike his mother who had sat transfixed each time the white-clad scientists came to speak about the treatments they were developing. He was going to fail this, and then Morrison would kick him back out into the Great Australian Fuck All to fend for himself against the vampires, again. A sense of panic gripped him. What if Mako passed but he did not? What if they kept Mako, took him away to America, and left him, little failure Jamie, stranded all alone here? He could almost feel the teeth of a Ghoul gnawing at his right arm, sending shooting pain up his spine. He shut his eyes tight, gripping his upper right arm and digging his nails into his skin.

_She’ll be right._

Jamison did his best to focus on Mako’s voice, the brief comment of hope he had passed along moments prior. The blond sucked in a breath, holding it for three seconds, then exhaling. He repeated until his anxiety died down, allowing him to focus on the question again.

 _Maybe the one with ‘vampire’ in it…?_ he thought to himself idly, as he clicked on the letter A and moved onto the next question.

 

 

> **_Which of the following is not an effective weapon against a vampire?_ **  
>  _a) decapitation_  
>  _b) sulphur_  
>  _c) gold_  
>  _d) holy artifacts_

Jamie had no idea what a ‘holy artifact’ was, but he had no need to - he knew this one’s answer. He confidently entered C, remembering the endless discussions Mako had had with him about silver-imbued weapons being one of the only things that vampires could not withstand. That was the reason Mako’s machete was not made of silver - it would hurt him to use it just as much as it would hurt those he attacked with it.

 

 

> **_Put the following infection stages in order, from first stage to final stage._ **  
>  _Acute, Turning, Passive, Infection, Completion_

This question had five boxes to type the answers into. Jamie felt a rush of anxiousness in his core - he had never been good at that. He had always been far too slow, even more than the other kids were back at school. He used to always run out of time for tests and quizzes, only getting halfway through and finding out later that of the questions he _had_ managed to answer, only a few were right - at least there was not a limit for this exam. Placing his shaking hands on the keys and pushing his memories of elementary school down, he tried to wrack his brains to remember.

_Well…completion’s gotta be last, and infection’s gotta be first…_

He typed those into the topmost and bottommost boxes, the keys clicking back at him as he awkwardly jammed his pointer fingers down on the keyboard.

_Then…Turning’s before completion, I think…yeah, y’need to be Turned for it to finish…_

He added Turning into the box above Completion. That left Passive and Active. After staring at the screen, internally debating the order, he went with the safer bet - Passive fist, then Active. He kept rereading the answers, paranoid he had misspelled something and would lose points for the typo, before forcing himself to move on.

 

 

> **_Which of the following is not an alternate form of vampire?_ **  
>  _a) Dhampir_  
>  _b) Jiangshi_  
>  _c) Cattle_  
>  _d) Day-Walker_

Jamie’s jaw went a little slack. Were those first two English? He knew Day-Walkers well enough, but…what the hell was a… _jang-shee?_ It sounded faintly like ‘banshee’ - perhaps that was a hint? But then what was a… _damp-peer_?

His eye fell on option C.

_Cattle…ain’t that a cow? Cows can’t be vampires, can they?_

Jamie bit his lip and picked C, hoping that his train of thought at least got him partial credit. He briefly felt a rush of fear at the thought of a massive spotty heifer chasing him down with giant fangs akin to those of a saber-tooth tiger. He sincerely _hoped_ cows could not be vampires.

 

 

> **_Animal blood adequately nourishes a vampire in the same way human blood does._**  
>  [TRUE] [FALSE]

Jamie thought back to the many times he had watched Mako pull down his bandana and sink his sharp tusks into a rat or bird, or on some occasions, a larger animal he had managed to capture, downing their blood greedily. It always took him multiple drinks from the prey to finally be full, but when Jamie had pressed the plastic cup of his own blood against his partner’s lips back in the cottage basement, he had been satiated almost right away, even with his injuries. The blond leaned on the ‘False’ answer, clicking it.

 

 

> **_Put the following vampiric hunger stages in order, from first to last._ **  
>  _Blood-Starved, Blood-Hungry, Frenzy, Stable, Death_

Jamie felt a burst of cold in his body at the mention of the word Frenzy. He had never seen Mako go into one - according to him, Day-Walkers had a harder time reaching that point - but, he had described it in painstaking detail. The sudden explosion of strength and speed in even the weakest Thrall, leaving them uncontrollable as they attacked the nearest living thing, determined to gorge themselves on blood. He always mentioned the eyes - soulless, and red, glaring brightly as the berserker bit and clawed at their prey. Mako would know all the details - it had been a Frenzied Master Vampire that had attacked him and turned him into a Thrall, fifteen years ago.

Swallowing hard, Jamie carefully typed into the boxes: _Stable, Blood-Hungry, Blood-Starved, Frenzy, Death._

The questions continued, asking about the variety of powers vampires had, their weaknesses, and other such topics. Jamie was able to logic or recall his way out of each answer until he finally reached the last five.

 

 

> **_Which of the following moon phases does not have an effect on both vampires and werewolves?_ **  
>  _a) full moon_  
>  _b) blood moon_  
>  _c) lunar eclipse_  
>  _d) solar eclipse_

Jamison blanched. _Werewolves?_ He had no idea about anything related to werewolves. He had barely heard of them, and the topic had almost never come up with Mako. Frankly, he had thought they were a myth anyway. They were real?

_Of course they’re real, ya drongo. If vampires are real, werewolves oughta be too, nah?_

He bit his lip, trying to remember anything at all about the feral beasts. All he really knew was that they did not get along with vampires, and they were weak to gold instead of silver - somehow. Scratching at the back of his head, Jamie tried to wrack his brains to think of how Mako behaved. He was never very different during the full moon…perhaps that was the right answer? Jamie had no clue, swallowing hard as he clicked A.

He pushed through the remaining questions as best he could, before finally finishing the exam. Jamie touched his forehead, feeling it slick with sweat, and a soft whimper made its way out of his throat. He had never been the best student at school - he could hardly remember a time he had brought home a test grade that was higher than a C. His report card had never been something to put on the fridge. Each time his mother would push him to do better, but he was too busy playing video games and eating ice cream to care about grades. Now, here he was, so many years later, sitting anxiously at a computer and hoping - no, praying - he would get higher than an 80% on this. Exhaling loudly, he scooted the cursor over to the “Submit Exam” button. Whatever it was, it was done now. He quietly pushed himself up, limping to the door and crumpling his tank-top in his hands.

“You took a lot longer than I expected, Jamison,” Jack was saying. Mako and Angela were waiting for him as well, making Jamie’s ears warm in embarrassment.

“S-sorry,” he murmured, feeling like a spotlight had been put on him.

“Let’s go see how you two scored,” Angela said softly, stroking the boy’s hair reassuringly, “I’m sure you both did well…”

“I had to use a pen to type. The keys were way too small,” Mako grunted, half-joking in the hopes it would cheer Jamie up. He was too familiar with Jamie’s anxiety, but his comment seemed to have no effect. He opted instead to place his big hand on blond’s back and rub it.

“Alright, Mister Rutledge first…” Jack was saying, as he typed onto the main computer of the lab. The system hummed and whirred, carefully going through the questions one by one, before a final score popped up. _21/25 - **84%.** _

Angela smiled wide while Jamie’s frown only deepened. If Mako barely got enough to pass, how would he do? His eyes began to well up as Jack loaded up his exam next. He was going to fail and be cast back out into the GAFA, alone, to be eaten by a -

_25/25 - **100%.** _

Angela’s eyes widened as Jack furrowed his brow.

“That…that can’t be right.”

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, simultaneously confused and elated. He had gotten everything right?

“Good job, Jamie!” Mako said, rubbing his back excitedly as Angela applauded him. The boy felt like he was astral-projecting.

“You cheated?” Morrison pressed. Jamie’s brief burst of relief evaporated like mist under a hot sun as he shrunk back - despite being taller than Jack, he felt incredibly small.

“N-no, sir,” he stammered. Angela stepped between them, glaring.

“You wouldn’t ask that if any other agent took the exam, Jack. You’re so prejudiced, it’s despicable.”

Jack put his hands up defensively.

“I’m just making sure.”

The doctor pursed her lips at him before turning back, expression softening as she looked up at the two Aussies.

“Welcome to the team - both of you. Come on, let’s have some cake and tea to celebrate.”

After the brief high of his successful exam, followed by the warm chamomile tea and lemon meringues, Jamie could feel himself growing exhausted. By that point it was nearly midnight - a quick glance to Mako confirmed it was time for the two to retire to their dorm room. Jamison limped after the Thrall, yawning loudly and smacking his lips. Mako showed him how to remove his prosthetic limbs and set them aside within arm’s reach so he could redon them tomorrow, before helping him strip to his underwear and crawl into bed. The boy had not slept in a proper bed in years - the ground, and the occasional moth-eaten couch or mattress, but not a real bed. He buried his face into the pillow, inhaling the sweet scent deeply as he almost immediately drifted into a deep sleep.

Mako, on the other hand, was not tired. He quietly opened the window and sat beside it in the desk chair, staring out. He had known Australia nearly all of his life, both before and after the virus began to spread. He stared out at the gnarled, leafless trees, and the glowing crescent moon hanging in the sky, and thought of Peggy. He wished so dearly that she could have been here, with him, as he stroked the bandana around his neck idly.

Fifteen years. One would think Mako would have gotten over it by now, but somehow while other memories grew muddled with time, those involving her seemed like they had happened just yesterday. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see -

Jamison made a soft moan in his sleep, shifting a bit in the bed. The blanket had slid down, exposing his shoulders, and he was shivering from the light breeze rolling in from the window. Mako paused, then carefully lowered the window until only a sliver was exposed, before moving over to Jamison and tugging the blanket back up. He tucked the blond in carefully, following the motions of something long buried in the back of his mind, before gently patting Jamison’s sleeping form. Perhaps he should take note from the boy, and get some rest. He sank into the chair and looked out the window until his tired eyelids tugged themselves down of their own accord.

* * *

 

It was dead silent when Jamison awoke. He sleepily lifted his head from the pillow, rubbing his eyes with his left thumb, and looked around. For a split second, he had no idea where he was, until the memories came rushing back. He forced himself into a sitting position, stretching his back amidst little growls and sounds of his spine popping, before looking around for his partner.

“Mako?” he croaked out, smacking his lips at the taste of his own morning breath. No answer. Rolling his shoulders a bit, Jamie looked over to where he had put his prosthetic limbs the night before, just within reach on the night-table at the head of his bed. The leg was easy enough to secure into place, but the arm kept slipping and disobeying him. Just when he thought he had it finally strapped into place, he glanced down and realized it was facing backwards. Heaving a big, irritated sigh, Jamie took it off, opting to wait until Mako was around to help him put it on. He had managed a while without an arm, he could handle a few more minutes.

Limping over to the desk, he found a pile of neatly folded clothes waiting for him, along with a towel, a set of toiletries, and a note.

_Dress, wash, eat breakfast, stay out of trouble. -M_

Jamison snorted derisively.

“I’ll be on me best behavior,” he muttered to no one in particular, dressing himself. It was the same clothing as yesterday, with an additional zip-up blue hoodie to cover his shoulders. Jamie struggled into them as best he could with one arm before limping down the hall to the communal bathrooms, his prosthetic arm slung over his shoulder. The halls were deathly quiet, as if the entire headquarters had been stripped of people. Swallowing uncomfortably, Jamie entered the bathrooms, the humid air making his clothes stick to his skin. The only indication that he was not alone was the rushing of water in one of the shower stalls, and the sound of someone whistling. As he brushed his teeth, Jamie tried to recognize the tune, but it was hard when it was just three repeating notes, on a descending scale.

After, he made his way down to the mess hall again, glancing around to see if anyone was around.

“Hello?” he called, shyly. His voice echoed back at him from the walls of the industrial-style cafeteria. He sucked in a breath, trying to keep his anxiety down, as he found the leftovers from breakfast. Some mini butter croissants, a cup of strawberry yogurt, and a lukewarm mug of Earl Grey tea. He ate alone, at the edge of a table, briefly reminded of his time in primary school, eating lunch by himself and then sitting on the corner of the playground in the hopes that _today_ someone would invite him to play cricket with them. That day never did come.

_Maybe I should try to find Angie…reckon she’s in the infirmary again…_

After he finished eating, Jamie returned to the building’s hospital, quietly peering in. To his great relief, she was there, sorting papers into colored manila folders, tapping the edges of them against her desk before tucking them into a briefcase.

“G’day, Miss Ziegler…” Jamie mumbled.

“Good morning, Jamison,” she responded with a warm smile, “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, ripper, miss. Not sure when I had such a good sleep,” Jamie said, watching her movements.

“I’m so glad.”

She noticed his right stump.

“Do you need help with your prosthesis?”

“Oh, yes, miss. Please.”

Angela carefully secured the carbon fibre electrodes in place, holding the arm until Jamie had done some experimental wiggles with his fingers. As she fastened everything where it needed to go, the boy’s gaze fell on a framed photograph on her desk, not yet packed. He recognized her immediately, despite the fact that she looked younger, but her arms were around some man he did not know. There was a smudged date on the side of the photo.

She had caught him staring.

“It’s not very nice to look at private things, Jamison,” she said, voice a delicate, somber murmur as she moved over to the photo, placing it face-down on the table.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean no harm.”

An awkward silence hung between them as his ears prickled with embarrassed heat.

“I, uh…where are the others, miss?”

“The other agents, you mean? They’re mostly packing up for our flight back to New England. We’ll be leaving later this evening. Mako has already packed everything for you, I believe. You’re free to explore until five o’clock - that’s when we’ll be gathering at the launch bay to fly out.”

Jamison nodded, ducking his head and limping out of the infirmary. The picture of Angela and the unknown man had reminded him of Mako’s tiny tattered photograph, of him and his little girl. He paused at the door, glancing back.

Angela was gazing into it longingly.

* * *

 

“Have you ever been on an airplane before, Jamison?” Morrison was asking, as he oversaw the luggage being put away. Jamie side-eyed him.

“No, sir.”

“Good for you, your first experience gets to be on a private jet. We have one small layover in Los Angeles to refuel - enough time to stretch our legs - then the final leg of our journey will land us in Boston. About 22 hours total across the two.”

Mako made a noise in his throat - the only planes he had been on were those going back and forth between New Zealand and Australia, and those only took a few hours.

“That’s almost a day in the air, what’ll we do up there?” Jamie queried, looking up at the darkening sky, a tapestry of orange bleeding into purple dotted with pink clouds.

“The best thing you can do is sleep, usually,” Mako rumbled, adjusting the collar of his jacket in an almost paranoid manner. Damn his bite wounds - the scars never healed, as if some insulting reminder of what he would always be.

“Come on, everyone, let’s get boarding,” Angela said, picking up her briefcase and leading the way up the miniature staircase leading into the jet. Jamie slung his rucksack over his shoulder and followed suit. Mako was last, squeezing his way in through the tiny door. He and Jamie had two seats to themselves, the big and plushy kind that made the Thrall think of the first-class tickets he had always wished he could afford.

“We’ll serve breakfast in the morning, for now, it’s best to sleep,” Morrison said as he tucked a laptop bag in the overhead compartment. Jamie barely heard him, poring over a safety leaflet and badgering Mako with questions about what the various diagrams meant (“So we’re gonna launch ourselves out of the plane if somethin’ goes wrong?”). Mako just made grunts in the affirmative or negative depending on the question. Much to his relief, Jamison shut up tighter than a clam when the plane began its speedy race down the runway, the loud whirring and humming of the motors clearly making him anxious enough to slide his hand into the Thrall’s tightly. Once they were up in the air, the blond pressed his face to the oval window, peering out as he watched Australia disappear beneath them, replaced by the deep blue waves of the Atlantic and eventually the thick, white layer of clouds. Mako could not help but watch as well, thinking how devastated the land looked from up here.

After the first hour of gazing out at the cloud cover, Jamie found his eyes starting to burn from exhaustion. He kicked off his sneakers and curled up in a ball, resting his head on Mako’s belly. After a brief pause to adjust his chair back, Mako relaxed as well, placing his big hand on the boy like a blanket. He looked quietly out of the window as Jamison slept soundly, making tiny ‘prrp’ sounds occasionally, when his mind drifted back to his journal. He had not written an entry in a long while - he had been too occupied with caring for Jamie and acclimating to the new place he was living in. He reached into his satchel, which he had nestled in the space next to him, and retrieved his treasured notebook, along with a brand new pencil he had picked up. He turned to a new page and smoothed it out before writing.

 

**_Mako’s Journal_ **

_5430 days since outbreak._  
_13 days since rescue._  
_1 day since officially joining Overwatch._

_I can hardly believe how much has happened in such little time. Jamie has recovered, been given a bath, received his new arm and leg, and even passed the entrance exam with top marks. I always told him he was smart, but he never believes me - I remember all the stories about how his anxiety caused him to do worse in school than what he was capable of…_

_The important thing now is that we are safe. As I write this, we are in the air, flying away from Australia. Oz has been my home for as long as I can remember, but it’s time to move on now. To somewhere safer. Somewhere better._

  _Today's pig is the Tamworth. Ginger._

He rested his pencil between the pages and closed the pad, tucking it away before looking down at Jamie as he rolled over, making a small noise in his sleep. Watching the boy be so peaceful in his slumber made Mako’s own eyelids start to grow heavy. He rested his head back and closed his eyes, letting himself be pulled slowly into the quiet darkness of slumber.

The groggy duo were awoken by the smell of eggs - breakfast on the plane was omelets with yogurt and fresh fruit. Jamison greedily devoured the contents of his tray, chin dripping juice all over his lap by the time Angela made the rounds with a pot of coffee. Mako pushed his unused food over to the boy to polish off, before piling the trash indistinctly between the two of their trays, to make it look like he ate something.

“We’ll be landing in a private airport near Los Angeles in a few hours - during that time I suggest you both take some time to walk outside and get some fresh air,” Angela instructed, “Especially you, Jamison. You slept in your prostheses.”

“Aw, hell, miss, I forgot…I’ll get used to it, I swear.”

The Californian airport was hot and humid, but the Aussies welcomed the chance to walk around outside and breathe something other than the antiseptic-laden air inside the jet. Mako found himself chatting idly with Angela, as Jamie traipsed the length of the runway and watched the refueling process, the stink of kerosene permeating in the morning mist.

“Five and a half more hours to go,” Morrison grumbled, doing pushups on the tarmac.

“Almost there, Jamie, almost there,” Mako rumbled, sensing the blond was getting antsy. Jamie made a snort, stretching his back until it popped before begrudgingly re-boarding the plane.

“Maybe this will entertain you, Jamison,” Angela said, offering a thick book to the boy, “I was going to reread it but perhaps you may enjoy it more.”

Jamie looked down at the cover - _Fangwatch_ , read the title in gold lettering.

“It’s a full collection of all the information Overwatch has gleaned on vampirism,” Angela explained, with a titter, “I’m sure you’ll love my chapters.”

Jamison smiled wide, settling into his chair and opening up the book. He was not one for reading, typically, but he was rapidly engrossed in the book. Mako kept glancing at him, but the focused, nearly stern expression on Jamie’s face as he read was unwavering.

“…Jamie.”

“Hmm.”

“You fine?”

“Mhm.”

“You, uh…you feel sick at all?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

Mako made a huff.

“Well, damn, I usually can’t get you to stop earbashing for five minutes and here the solution was all along.”

Jamie could not help but giggle as the captain informed them they would be landing soon.

“Buckle up, Jim-Jam,” Mako said, using the nickname he only ever reserved for when he was in high spirits. It always made Jamison’s mood blossom 200%, as indicated by the ear-to-ear grin he had on now. After all, it was the nickname his mother used for him. He stared out the window at the bright speckles of light below, eyes wide in excitement.

The descent to Boston was less fluid than the one in LA, leaving Jamie to grab Mako’s hand tight again from the rumbling. After their plane rolled to a neat stop, everyone got off and began gathering their luggage. For Mako and Jamie this meant only one duffle bag between the two of them. The boy’s eyes all but bulged in his head as he saw the sheer quantity of weapons that were hauled out.

“We should be there by about seven o’clock…I hope the team had dinner…” Angela mused aloud.

“How much are we betting they just ordered pizza?” Morrison grunted, throwing a backpack over his shoulder.

Jamie tied the strands of his rucksack and trailed after the group as they piled into a bus. Morrison drove, leaving the blond to press his face to the window and stare out at the blazing lights of the famous city, the rippling water of the Charles River, the angry beeping of cars as the drivers yelled impatiently to each other. It was all wonderful.

Eventually they found themselves on a side road, traveling through a copse of trees. The wind made their leaves ripple as they drove by. Jamison could hardly remember the last time he had seen a tree with more than a few leaves on it, let alone green ones.

As they headed up the rolling hill towards the main Overwatch headquarters, Jamie stuck his head out the window to get a better look, the wind rushing past his face. The building was enormous, a smooth white exterior dotted with lights and the glowing logo of the vampire hunting crew. His eyes widened almost comically, excited.

“Jamie, put yer head back in before you hit something,” Mako rumbled humorously, tugging at the blond’s shorts. Jamie plopped back into his seat, wriggling excitedly, as the bus pulled up to the front rotary by the doors. After gathering their things, the group headed into the main hall. Jamie’s gaze fell on two people waiting for them - he was faintly reminded of salt and pepper shakers, except from a mismatched set. The salt was tall and broad and sported a thick Santa Claus-like white beard, while the pepper was shorter and wore a blue cloth on her head.

“Welcome back, everyone,” the woman said, smiling wide. The corners of her mouth crinkled as she spoke, the crow’s feet next to her eyes becoming more prominent. Her soft voice could not be more different than the booming voice, laden with a thick German accent, that burst from the man beside her.

“We’ve been so excitedly awaiting for you, Morrison, Winston, Angela!”  he chortled, grinning wide, before his gaze fell on the two Aussies, “And…two new friends?”

The woman’s smile faltered a bit, locking eyes with Jamie. He felt himself shrink under her gaze.

“Ana, Reinhardt, these are Mako and Jamison. Our newest recruits,” Angela said, smiling pleasantly as she placed her hands on the two’s shoulders. Well, Jamie’s shoulders, and Mako’s elbow. The Thrall had extended his hand shyly in greeting, but both quickly found themselves wrapped in a tight bear hug from the enormous man named Reinhardt.

“Well, we’re always happy to have new additions to our team! Welcome!” he said, in a great booming voice as he squeezed the two tightly. Jamison made a wheeze, glancing over at Mako, who seemed equally stunned at this development.

“Reinhardt, you’re crushing them! Put them down!” Angela insisted, tugging at the German’s beefy arm. The joyous man set them back on the floor, smiling wide as the older woman looked on with a mixed expression.

“Where are the others?” Morrison asked, dropping a duffle bag on the tiled floor.

“Downstairs,” the woman named Ana said, “Thank goodness you’re back, you can finally talk them back into doing their duties. I haven’t been able to get them to do a perimeter check in days. You would not believe the excuses they’ve made up.”

The commander grumbled under his breath, heading down the hall. Angela looked after him before turning to the two Aussies, as Reinhardt went to help Torbjörn and Winston with their unpacking.

“Perhaps you two should join us and meet the rest of our crew? Come, come along.”

Jamison and Mako followed her closely, down a large staircase to what appeared to be a window-lined rec room stuffed with bean bag chairs and couches and a large TV. The place was littered with various takeaway cartons, pizza boxes, half-empty bottles of soda, and used paper plates. Nestled by the TV on a variety of plushy cushions was a group of three men and a woman, lounging with their legs up and arms behind their heads as they watched some B list horror movie about comically exaggerated vampire monsters. Mako coughed quietly into his fist as Jamison smirked at him.

“We leave you for two weeks and THIS is what you make of yourselves?” Morrison spat, throwing a lone cushion at the cowboy-hatted one in the middle, “Truly Overwatch’s finest!”

“Ah -! Hey -! ‘Tweren’t nothin’, commander, we were just havin’ dinner!” the owner of the hat said as he scrambled to clean up the chips that had spilled to the floor from the motion. One of the others, a thin girl with short, spiky brown hair had leapt to her feet, all but sprinting to meet them with a hand glued to her head in a salute. She was wearing a white tank-top, a hot pink bra, and blue shorts with no socks.

“Commander Morrison, Doctor Ziegler, welcome back!” she said cheerily through a subtle British accent.

“Don’t try to wiggle out of this one, Lena, you’re still in the hot bench,” Jack grumbled.

“Aw, rubbish,” she pouted, kicking at the carpeted floor with her bare foot. Then, in a mere instant, she had perked up again as she noticed Jamie and Mako. “And who are these two?”

“This is Jamison and Mako. Two new recruits,” Angela said proudly, “Gentlemen, this is Cadet Lena Oxton, one of our finest team members.”

The girl was grinning ear to ear as she offered her hand to Jamie, shaking his hand vigorously before doing the same to Mako.

“Pleasure, pleasure!” she chirped during it all, “I can’t wait to show you two around the base!”

She turned back to Angela.

“Is Winston here?”

“He is still getting his research tools from the bus, perhaps you can h -?”

Angela did not need to finish - Lena was already bolting upstairs, her long legs carrying her like an Olympic track runner.

One of the others had also come over to greet them - for a split-second Jamie thought he was looking at a sentient robot. But as he peered close, he realized that in reality this lithe, nimble-bodied man was simply adorned with prosthetics - much like he was.

“Greetings,” the man said, bending his waist at a slight angle and dipping his head, which was thick with green-dyed hair. He reminded the blond of asparagus, and his accent was less easy to place than Lena’s. “Jamison and Mako, was it? I’m very pleased to have you as part of our team. My name is Genji Shimada.”

“What happened t’ya?” Jamie blurted out, receiving a sharp, reprimanding elbow from Mako. Genji smiled a bit, though it certainly seemed to be difficult for him with the strange mouthplate he had.

“We’ve only just met, I think it’ll be some time before you unlock my tragic backstory,” he chuckled. Jamie relaxed a bit, relieved that this man had a sense of humor. His brief respite from the brewing social anxiety in his gut was quickly interrupted when one of the other men approached, movements rigid and carrying an air of intense snobbery. He looked intensely at Jamison, eyes seeming to bore a hole through him as they scrutinized every square millimetre of his clothes and hair and prostheses. Mako, seeming to sense Jamie’s discomfort, moved slightly such that the boy was somewhat hidden behind his beefy arm.

“…hm,” the man finally settled on. He stiffly offered his hand.

“Hanzo Shimada.”

Jamie awkwardly shook, glancing back and forth between Genji and Hanzo.

“…ya two are brothers?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Well, we -” Genji began.

“Yes, we are,” Hanzo interrupted curtly, seeming to think shaking Jamison’s hand was enough. Mako stifled a comment on the matter, gauging Angela’s expression - she seemed unhappy about the treatment the two were receiving, but kept her focus on cleaning the cans of soda and beer littered about.

The third man was getting up off the couch, movements languid like a cat. He came over to them, amidst a faint sound of jingling - Jamison realized it was the spurs on his cowboy boots. He tilted his head slightly.

“Howdy,” he said, “Name’s McCree.”

He offered his hand to Jamison, eyes twinkling slightly from under the broad brim of his hat as they shook. They looked…suspicious.

“Y’all can call me Jesse,” he added as he shook Mako’s hand next, “I’m the head of the Blackwatch division of our here li’l organization.”

“You haven’t told us what makes Blackwatch special,” Mako rumbled softly to Angela and Morrison.

“Oh, of course - Blackwatch is our special operations division. The members have…unique qualifications that make them our front-runners for certain tasks,” the doctor explained, as she stacked several empty, grease-stained pizza boxes, “They are truly the backbone of some of our most sensitive operations.”

“You flatter us, darl,” Jesse chuckled, grinning wide. It was then that Jamie saw the canines, far too long and sharp for a human, and he realized why the cowboy’s eyes had looked so odd. He shrank behind Mako, suddenly afraid.

“You’re a vamp…!” he squeaked, unable to keep the fear out of his tone. Mako gripped him defensively, eyes narrowing.

“Easy, Jamison, easy…” Angela reassured, gripping him gently, “I’m sorry, I should have been honest...some members of Blackwatch come from…certain backgrounds…”

“I won’t hurt you, kiddo,” Jesse purred, his southern twang punctuating every word, “I ain’t even a real vamp. I’m just a halfie. A Dhampir. My ma was a human, she had me with a real vamp.”

Jamie caught his breath. _So that’s what a Dhampir is…a half-breed…_

“Jesse came from the Deadlock clan of vampires…his father was the leader, and Jesse eventually defected…”

“I’ve done some real bad things, makes me sick t’think ‘bout it,” Jesse added, “But I assure you, kiddo, I ain’t returnin’ to that life. I’ve come to pay my penance with Blackwatch.”

Jamie peeked out past Mako’s arm, still a little anxious as he glanced at the Shimada brothers.

“A-and they are too?”

“Not quite…” Angela murmured, voice more unsure than with McCree, “They’re -”

“That is for us to know and you to find out,” Hanzo interjected gruffly, despite a reproachful look from Genji, “Are we all finished with these pleasantries? If so I’ll be returning to my room.”

“Hell no, you won’t!” Morrison spat, throwing a black garbage bag over his shoulder like a grungy Santa, “Don’t think we forgot about your recent slacking! Why don’t you three go on a full perimeter check of the northern jurisdiction while I check your logbooks and see what other duties you’ve been putting off?”

The three Blackwatch men collectively groaned but obliged, begrudgingly gathering some of their things as they headed out, presumably to the locker rooms to change.

“…wait! Jesse!” Angela called after. The half-breed glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes’m?”

“Take Mako and Jamison with you! It’ll be a great first experience for them!”

Jesse looked the two over.

“Are you sure? Ain’t y’all tired from the flight?”

“You think it’ll be a good idea to do somethin’ dangerous on our first day?” Mako half-joked, though the fact that his grip on Jamie tightened a bit indicated his real feelings.

“It’ll only be for a perimeter check, just for a couple of hours or so. Not dangerous at all, it’s to look for signs of activity by suspicious groups. It’ll be a wonderful opportunity to introduce you gentlemen to how we work,” Angela ensured the bigger man, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. “It is your choice, but I would truly recommend it.”

Mako glanced down at Jamie, who had not unlocked his gaze from the patterned prosthetic that McCree had on his left arm. The blond’s hand was resting on his own, almost defensively.

“…yeah. Yeah, I wanna see,” he said, the warble in his voice betraying the mixture of giddiness and anxiety he felt.

“You sure, Jamie…?” the Thrall pressed.

“Yeah.”

“Well…alright…”

“I’ll pass word along to Hanzo and Genji,” Jesse said with a nod, “We’ll come get y’all once we’re done preparin’.”

Jamie nodded, face burning. He had no idea why.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

“They said they’d meet in the northern part of town,” Gabriel was saying, running a finger down the texting app on his phone, “Lúcio, you can take this.”

“Seriously?” Lúcio grumbled, leaning on the broom he was using to sweep the floor, “Can’t Sombra do this one? I already convinced that bartender last week to give you signals for fresh meat.”

“I’m not asking, Santos,” Gabriel said, voice low and suggesting he should not be argued with. Lúcio set his jaw, resisting a snide comment.

“Don’t worry, Lú-Lú, it’s just to chat,” Sombra reassured, using the cute pet name she only ever reserved for when she knew Lúcio’s patience with his Master was running thin. She was looking at her laptop, at a forum for obsessive fans of vampirism that made desperate pleas online for a Master to come find and Turn them. A vast majority of the time, if the requests were not ignored, the foolish humans would be Ghouls by morning. “It’s only one of those _Dusk-Light_ fangirls who wants to be Turned, just scare her off before she makes a fuss.”

“Or you can bite her and pretend to Turn her,” Akande chuckled, turning the page in his wrestling magazine, “Wouldn’t that be funny.”

Lúcio growled, resting the broom against the wall and rubbing his jaw.

“What’s the matter? Has the monk’s blood made you soft?” Akande purred, red eyes glinting in amusement. Lúcio did not say anything, instead opting to silently pull on a green hoodie and tuck his phone in his back pocket.

“I’ll be sure to give her your regards,” he muttered, slamming the door on his way out.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Genji met with Mako and Jamison in the lobby. For a moment, the blond did not recognize him due to the large, green visor-sporting helmet he had on, but when the younger Shimada took it off apologetically, the two relaxed significantly.

“It’s really more of a precaution than anything,” he said, as he led the two outside. The summer breeze ruffled Mako’s gray hair as he tied it into a low ponytail.

“Where are the other two?” he asked.

“We’ve split up - Hanzo and McCree are taking the left side of the perimeter, we’re taking the right. We’ll meet up in the middle after we’ve finished.”

Jamie was not listening, his eyes glued to the two sheaths on Genji’s back - especially the one with the jeweled hilt sticking out of it.

“Do you want to see them?”

The younger brother’s voice startled Jamie out of his stupor.

“H-huh?”

“My swords,” Genji said, smiling. He removed the holster for the second one, at his hip, and offered it to the boy, “Would you like to hold it?”

Jamie gingerly outstretched his hands, watching as Genji placed the sheathed sword into his palms. It was heavier than he anticipated, making him stumble.

“You can hold onto it, if you’d like. It’s silver-imbued.”

“What about the other one?”

Genji glanced behind his shoulder as Mako knelt, securing the holster on Jamison’s waist.

“That is also silver. Blessed, as well. But…we only use it for emergencies. Ah, but we are running late. Let us hurry along.”

Jamie hurried after, the sword bouncing at his hip. He felt oddly powerful.

As they walked, Genji directed them to certain important locations and signs - a run-down bar that had once been a confirmed vampire den, graffiti that related to a specific clan, rooftops that had ladders or good footholds that could serve as a lookout for a given threat, and more. Jamie hung on every word, glancing around himself in a paranoid fashion. His prosthesis throbbed in a rhythmic pain, as if remembering the one day that he had not looked above him for lingering Ghouls and paid for it with his arm.

“Are you alright, Jamison?” Genji asked, resting a metal hand on his shoulder. Jamie stiffened a bit, his hands freezing in their anxious clasping and unclasping.

“I, uh…yeah, I’m aces,” Jamie lied, “Are we gettin’ close to the other two?”

“We should be meeting soon,” Genji nodded. Barely had he finished his thought when Jamie became aware of a distant sound of tapping. It sounded faintly like feet on concrete, mimicking that of their group’s, but there was a heaviness in each thud, accompanied by an odd clicking. Jamie squinted, trying to see down the street - he had always been somewhat near-sighted, but the approaching form looked less like two men and more like a giant white blob. As it grew closer, the blond realized he was not seeing things. But he certainly wished he was.

The snowy wolf was enormous, towering over all of them, even Mako. Jamie wagered he was about 10 feet tall at the shoulder, but he was not really thinking on it. He was frozen in place, horrified, as the canine cast its yellow eyes in his direction. Nestled neatly on its back, behind the shoulder blades, was Jesse, wearing a very different set of clothes than the stained t-shirt and sweatpants he had been sporting back at the headquarters - he was refined, his hair tied back in a slight ponytail, his flowing leather coat fringed with metal, a wide belt with a skull buckle at his waist.

“Howdy,” he said cheerily, hopping off of the wolf’s back. He tilted his head a bit, staring at the stunned expressions on the faces of the two Aussies, “What?”

“W-w-w-w-w-what is THAT?” Jamie stammered, jabbing a finger at the enormous wolf. It flattened its ears and scowled at him, in an almost familiar way.

“What is - oh! Pardon, I ain’t introduced y’all to Hanzo’s wolf form.”

“ _Uncouth_ ,” the wolf spoke, sounding more like a snarl.

“T-t-that’s Hanzo?!”

“Yes. He and Genji are werewolves,” McCree said, as if it was the most normal conversation in the universe. Mako felt a rush of cold fear at the thought that this wolf would be able to smell his scent and realize what he was.

“Ahaha…” Genji laughed nervously, “Our father…Sojiro Shimada…he was an Alpha. You know, genetically pure? Hanzo’s mother was one of his bite victims…making Hanzo an Alpha as well. I am merely a Beta…as my mother was a human.”

“Ya can transform like this too?” Jamie sputtered, still trying to make sense of this. A few days ago he had thought werewolves a myth, and now two were speaking to him. Well, one was, and the other was glaring at them with piercing yellow eyes.

“Only during the full moons and such…but I can do this.”

Genji seemed to suddenly sprout a pair of large, brown ears. He bent one slightly as he tilted his head, adopting a puppy-eyed expression.

“ _Stop that, you are not a child_ ,” Hanzo barked, making Genji laugh.

“We’re waitin’ on a possible vamp,” McCree said to Mako and Jamie, who both were visibly relieved at the change in subject, “We posed as a client interested in being Turned, sometimes that draws them outta the woodwork.”

“How d’ya reckon they’ll react when they see us?” Jamie asked, glancing down the alleyway as if expecting a mob of vampires to approach them at any given moment.

“Heh, if things go right, they won’t have time to,” Jesse chuckled darkly. As if on cue, an unexpectedly cooler breeze swept through the streets, making goosebumps form on Jamie’s skin as he shivered.

“You alright, pardner?” the cowboy said, expression softening, “Here, take this.”

He shrugged off his long leather jacket and wrapped it around Jamison’s shoulders. It was unexpectedly warm, which surprised the boy, as he hugged it around himself, the tattered ends flapping as the wind subsided. The sleeves were far too wide for his thin arms, sliding down below the wrists.

“Lookit that, you look like a regular hunter yerself,” Jesse said, taking off his hat and plopping it on Jamie’s blond locks. He peeked out from under the wide brim, smiling a bit as a warm blush spread across his face.

“ _I can’t smell anything here, your scent is interfering, McCree. It reeks of vampire,_ ” Hanzo’s growl cut into his thoughts like a sharp tooth as the werewolf sniffed at the floor, trying to find a trail. Mako made a soft wheezy cough, knowing the Dhampir was not the only thing stinking up the place.

“Aw, don’t be that way, pumpkin. I took a shower and everythin’. Why, I -”

“ _Quiet._ ”

“Aw, let me de -”

“ _I said QUIET._ ”

A hush fell over the group as Hanzo lifted his head, nose wiggling erratically as his ears swiveled about, trying to pinpoint a sound.

“… _he’s here._ ”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Lúcio was alone aside from the soft tapping of his feet. He hated that lonely sound, remembering all too well the night when the echoes of his shoes on wet pavement was the only thing that accompanied him as he had run from Gabriel. He kicked a bottle cap that was nearby, watching it skitter across the empty road. Where was that girl? She said she would be in plain sight, but he could not see or hear anyone here. Had she gotten scared and bailed?

As he turned into an alleyway, still looking at his phone for more info, he heard conversing. Male conversing. Lúcio froze, glancing up - all he needed to lay eyes on was the hulking white beast to know he had just walked into a trap. He frantically ducked behind the nearby trashcan, trying to subdue his breathing. How they had not seen him, he did not know - but they had heard him.

‘He’s here’, a guttural voice was saying - the werewolf’s, he assumed.

“He? Who’s he?” a thickly-accented voice rang out, loud and audibly panicked.

“Quiet, Jamie, he might hear you,” another voice in a southern twang said, “We ain’t gonna kill this one if we capture it, just take it back to HQ.”

 _Fuck, it’s Overwatch._ Lúcio swore mentally as he angled his head slightly, trying to gauge his escape options. The only real way was back the way he had come, but there was no way he could outrun a giant wolf, even as a Thrall with enhanced speed and strength. He gritted his teeth, knowing the only other option was to wait until the filthy mutt caught wind of his scent and found his hiding place. He peeked past the trashcan - the wolf was sniffing about, but just about all the humans were looking away. This was his chance.

Lúcio set his jaw and pushed himself up, running for the corner he had just rounded - it was likely he would have gotten away if one of the group had not heard the squeak of his sneaker. Jamison only saw the brown dreads disappearing around the brick wall, but he knew what it was.

“H-hey! HEY! S-stop!” he yelled. His legs moved of their own accord, running after the disappearing creature.

“Hey, kid, what are you doin’?!” McCree called after, trying to grab at the blond.

“Jamison! It’s dangerous! JAMISON!”

Jamie could not hear them for all the blood roaring in his ears. Some deep, repressed anger was boiling in his gut, driving him to run faster, possessed by some sick need to sink the blade at his side into this vampire’s throat.

Lúcio, panting, could hear something behind him. He glanced back and found one of the group had peeled away to chase him. Swearing loudly, he rounded a corner to try and shake him off.

“Get away from me, you creep!” he yelled, glancing around for something to use in defense. He knocked some trash cans over behind him as he bolted. Jamie yelped in surprise, stumbling as he tried to avoid the debris and metal barrels.

“Don’t think I’m lettin’ ya get away, ya fuckin’ monster!” he snarled, jumping over the last can with a loud ‘oof’ and resuming his sprint. Lúcio gritted his teeth, forcing himself to run faster, almost tripping over a stray beer bottle. The jostling motion caused the phone inside his hoodie pocket to fall out, clattering to the pavement. He gasped, whipping around and running back for it - the last thing Overwatch needed was access to vampire secrets.

As his fingers closed around his phone, the brief diversion proved to be more than enough time for Jamison to catch up with the fleeing vampire, tackling him to the ground. Lúcio scrabbled at the ground, hissing loudly as he squirmed.

“Gotcha now, ya little mosquito!” Jamie spat, snatching the Thrall’s ponytail of dreads and yanking hard. Lúcio jerked his head in pain, his elbow flying back and smacking hard against the blond’s nose, knocking him back briefly and forcing him to relinquish his hold and grab his nose. Lúcio wiggled his way free and heaved himself up, running as fast as he could. The smell of his assailant’s blood seemed to chase him, making his stomach twinge.

“Ngh…” Jamie looked down at the blood on his hands, resisting the urge to sniff as he started running after the vampire again.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?!” Lúcio threw the insult behind himself almost literally as he turned a corner without looking. As his head moved back to face where he was going, he made a cry and threw his hands out, nearly crashing into a brick wall.

Dead end.

Breathing hard, he slowly turned to look behind him at the rapidly approaching thud of boots and barely had a chance to see anything before a hand flew out, slamming hard against the wall behind him and barring his way. The blond had caught him.

The two glared into each other’s eyes as they panted, faces mere inches apart. Lúcio pressed his back further against the wall and bared his teeth, glancing up at his stalker’s spiky locks.

“…you dropped your hat,” he hissed, red eyes twinkling under the dirty orange glow of a nearby lamp. He was aware of how his own dreadlocks were flattened against the brick and mortar awkwardly.

“Rack off,” Jamie growled in response, knitting his thick brows even more. The wet blood oozing down from his nose and pooling on his upper lip was maddeningly itchy, but he resisted the urge to wipe it off as his right hand stayed resting on the hilt of the sword at his side, the other pressed against the wall to bar the vampire’s escape.

“N-now…” he gasped, “Now I’ll…teach ya a lesson…ya fuckin’ cunt…”

He yanked hard at the hilt, expecting the sword to come free instantly, but instead it jerked awkwardly in the holster, hanging half out. Jamie’s hands did a wild grab for the blade as it teetered in the sheathe, but it ended up clattering to the concrete below and leaving the Aussie with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Face burning with embarrassment, he slowly lifted his gaze up to look at the Thrall - Lúcio wore a decidedly unimpressed expression, lip curling in a slight sneer.

“L-listen, me mates will get here s-soon and they’ll teach ya a fuckin’ lesson and -!”

Lúcio was not listening - his eyes had dropped to Jamie’s legs, noting that he was leaning on one harder than the other. He sensed this was an opening, pulling his leg back slightly before delivering a swift kick right to Jamie’s right leg.

Truth be told, Lúcio had not expected the speed at which the blond crumpled to the ground, smacking his jaw hard on the unforgiving payment. Neither had he expected the leg to make such a strange, almost metallic sound. Realizing with cold dread that he had just kicked a man’s prosthesis out from under him, he moved, almost instinctively, to help the man back up, but the sound of people calling out snapped him out of it. Lúcio quickly sidestepped the disarmed blond and ran out of the dead-end alleyway, disappearing into the night.

“Jamison?! Jamie!” Mako was calling, in a panic, “They couldn’t have gotten that far…”

“ _I smell blood. They must be close,_ ” Hanzo was saying, sniffing at the ground. Genji hurried ahead, glancing down the corridor before spotting Jamie, who was trying and failing to pull himself up.

“Here! He’s here!”

The three men and the wolf gathered around Jamie as Mako helped him up, shaking slightly at the blood all over his face.

“What were you thinkin’?!” he demanded, shaking his partner slightly, “You could have been killed!”

“I wath tryin’ t’help!” Jamie lisped, letters slurred from the amount of blood in his mouth - he had bitten his tongue when he had been knocked down. “That fuckin’ little -!”

“Enough,” Mako spat, picking him up and holding him a little too closely, “We’re goin’ back to the headquarters and fixin’ yer face.”

“B-but the vampire’th thtill loothe!”

“ _You’ve done enough foolish nonsense today, boy,_ ” Hanzo barked, ears flat in anger. McCree was not speaking as he quietly dusted off his hat, having picked it up in the search for Jamie.

“C-c’mon, we gotta go after it! Right?” Jamie looked to Jesse in the hopes he would defend him.

“…right…?”

McCree paused, looking him over silently.

“…what you did, kid…was real stupid. You coulda gotten hurt real bad, worse than this.”

Jamie slowly hung his head, ears burning in shame.

“…but it was also real brave.”

He lifted his head, surprised. McCree was grinning.

“You got spunk, kid, lots of it. I like you. Maybe I can talk to Morrison, see if he can set you up as a li’l apprentice on the Blackwatch team.”

Jamie’s spirits soared, excited. Conversely, Mako’s only sunk. He had hoped that after tonight, he and Jamison would have been able to stay far away from the werewolves and the half-breed - but it looked like they would be stuck together a while longer.

“For now, though…” McCree said, plopping his hat on Jamie’s head again, “Let’s get you cleaned up. Smells like a storm’s a-brewin’.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Lúcio made it home just as the rain started, out of breath. He had not stopped running since he had essentially assaulted the blond who had been chasing him. Those orange eyes that had stared into his own were burned into his memory. Had that been a teenager? He could not have been that old - maybe Lúcio’s age? The Thrall had no idea, pushing his way into the warehouse and wrestling off his hoodie immediately, staring at the blood on the elbow.

“Back already?” Reyes said, cutting into his thoughts. Lúcio flinched a bit, looking up at his Master, who was still languidly resting in a posh armchair and reading.

“What? Was she a no-show?” Sombra pressed, halfway through painting her toes purple, “Give us the deets!”

Lúcio took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“…it was a trap. Overwatch was there. I barely got away.”

Sombra’s giddy expression faded immediately into one of concern as she hauled herself up and raced over, looking Lúcio over for injuries.

“A trap?” Akande said, raising an eyebrow, “You can’t be serious. You’d better not have just run away.”

“I had to, _idiota_ , there was a wolf! I could have died!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Akande clucked disappointedly, resting his arms behind his head. Lúcio moved to walk over and hit him but Sombra gripped his shoulders, pulling him back. Not like he had to - a hot glare from Gabriel subdued any further comments from the biggest Thrall.

“The important thing is that you’re okay…” Sombra murmured, rubbing his back. She looked down at the hoodie in his clenched hand, pointing at the bloodstain. “That isn’t yours, is it?”

“No. It was some kid’s. Blond, tall, thick accent. Aussie or British, I couldn’t really tell.”

“A tall blond? You don’t mean the doctor?”

“No, it was a dude.”

Sombra furrowed a brow. She knew all of the members of Overwatch - she would remember someone befitting that description.

Lúcio shrugged. “Must be a new addition or something. Don’t know, don’t care. Not like I’ll see him again.”

“I’ll do some digging,” she said, “But you need a blood bag and some rest, you went through a lot.”

“I’m fine, Sombra, really. I just -”

His voice faltered when he saw her purse her lips and fold her arms. She always acted like such an older sister to him. The only reason he did not complain was because he was reminded of Gabriela.

“Alright, alright, fine…” Lúcio obliged, throwing the hoodie over his shoulder and heading to the fridge. As he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, quietly sipping on the monk’s blood and listening to the faint rumbles of thunder, he for some reason could not get over those piercing orange eyes, or the groan of pain when the boy had smacked face-first to the concrete.

Why had he wanted to help him back up?

…

Why _hadn’t_ he?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the second chapter! Any comments/kudos are appreciated greatly. Please stay tuned for the next chapters!  
> I'm already working on the next chapter, and I also have slowly begun putting together a blog on Tumblr for this AU! Once it's more properly constructed, I will put a link here.
> 
> Follow http://artumndiesirae.tumblr.com/ for chapter updates/art!  
> (Main blog: http://autumndiesirae.tumblr.com/)


	4. Cold Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tell myself it's all a dream, and monsters are not all they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHE LIVES!  
> I just wanted to say, I am so sorry for the enormous delay in getting this chapter out - this past semester has been incredibly difficult and I had very little time or energy to write. Thankfully, though, this chapter is extra long, and that might make up for it a tiny bit.

 

* * *

 

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

The deafening gunshots echoed briefly in the shooting gallery as Jamison opened his closed left eye, glancing down the corridor to the target - a white silhouette of a vampire, with comically large ears and claws, against a black backdrop. To his growing dismay, Jamie found that while all three of the bullets he had fired had made their mark on the board, they were all on the black instead of the white. He made a soft sigh, tugging down his headphones to hear the inevitable barking comments Hanzo would direct at him momentarily.

“Are you even trying?” the older Shimada spat, uncomfortable close to Jamie as he scrutinized the target board. “Reload and try again.”

“We’ve been at this fer an hour, can I just -?”

“You will get a break when you can hit your enemy. Now, reload and _TRY AGAIN._ ”

Jamie shrank under Hanzo’s piercing gaze, uncomfortable. He felt someone step behind, felt weighty prosthetic hands rest on his shoulders.

“Hanzo, let the boy rest. McCree will be here soon and he will pick up where you left off,” Genji said evenly, his thumb gently stroking the crook of Jamie’s neck in reassurance. The blond had to resist bursting into a fit of giggles from the tickling.

“Fine,” Hanzo snapped, taking the practice pistol and unloading it per protocol. Jamison quietly removed his headphones, setting them on the shelf as he watched Genji return to his own area in the training room. He was looking up at a small peg, neatly pushed into the wall at an absurd height, leaning back and forth between his legs.

“Ya can’t be serious,” Jamie interjected, looking between Genji and the peg, “Ya won’t make it up there, you’ll f -”

Before he could finish his thought, Genji had dashed for the wall, a soft pitter-patter of his feet and hands against the plaster as he sprinted up, hooking himself onto the peg and neatly sitting on it. He looked down at Jamison with a wide grin, eyes twinkling in amusement at the slack-jawed, wide-eyed stare he was receiving in return.

“What do you think, Jamison?” Genji chirped.

“I…um…”

Jamie’s face felt hot.

“...pfft, that’s not hard at all! Watch this, mate!”

The blond positioned himself where Genji had before bolting at the wall and throwing himself at it. His futile scrabbles against the slippery paint proved useless as he slid down and collapsed in a heap on his back. Genji made a cheery laugh.

“That was a nice attempt, Jamison!” he said, carefully leaping down from the peg. Halfway through his descent, he neatly tucked his legs into his chest and flipped forward, coming to a neat landing on his feet. The dazed Jamison was reminded of a cat, albeit one with a head of fluffy green hair.

“I’ll teach you how to climb walls soon,” the ninja said, gripping Jamie’s arm and hauling him up.

“Yeah, yeah…” Jamie grumbled, face hot with embarrassment as he re-found his footing.

"There you are!"

Hanzo's biting tone cut into Jamison's thoughts as he glanced over. McCree was walking out of the locker room, yawning wide and tucking a tank-top into his pants. He looked like he had barely woken up an hour ago.

"G'mornin', kiddos," he said, flashing a fanged grin at Jamie and the two werewolves. Even when he was in such a bedraggled state he managed to be handsome.

"Where have you been! Practice began an hour ago, and your _apprentice_ has not managed to learn a single lesson!"

The biting tone of Hanzo's voice made Jamie's chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Aw, c'mon now, pumpkin, you just gotta be slow and understandin'. Lemme try."

"There is no room for slowness in this profession, Dhampir! And stop calling me pet names!" Hanzo retorted.

"Why? You seem t'like it."

"I most certainly do not!"

"Then why is your tail waggin'?" McCree chuckled. Hanzo's face turned a deep red as he clapped his hands to his butt, feeling his large white wolf tail swishing back and forth eagerly behind him. Jamison felt a snort worm its way out of his mouth, uncontrolled, before a grinning Genji gently elbowed him.

“Uncouth!” Hanzo spat, beet-red as he stomped into the locker rooms.

McCree, chuckled, had turned his attention to Jamison.

“So, you’re learnin’ t’shoot?”

Jamie nodded, suddenly shy.

“Show me.”

“U-um…I’m no good…”

“I didn’t ask if you were good, kiddo, I asked you to show me.”

A warmth crept into the Aussie’s ears as he obliged, returning to his station at the shooting gallery and carefully going through the prep steps - donning his headphones, loading the gun, aiming, and firing. Once again, the three shots found themselves scattered, and none where they should be on the vampire silhouette. Jamie bit his lip, embarrassed.

“Hmm…”

McCree scratched at his beard, making audible _scritch_ sounds.

“Are you shuttin’ one of your eyes?”

Jamie blinked, confused.

“Yeah…?”

“Don’t, keep both eyes open. Helps you focus better. Lemme see your stance again.”

Jamie obliged, leaning back a bit as he stretched his arms out stiffly.

“No no, lean forward, not back. The gun’s not gonna bite you.”

McCree rested his hands on Jamie’s back, urging him to lean forward.

“Don’t lock your elbows, nice and relaxed…”

The Dhampir ran his hands up Jamie’s arms, loosening the stiff joints.

“Don’t flinch. Remember, it’s just a gun, it ain’t gonna jump out of your hands and fire itself. Let that breath out, don’t hold it like that. Easy does it.”

The blond felt weirdly floaty as he carefully took aim.

_BANG._

A singular bullet hole stared back at him, squarely in the middle of the silhouette’s head.

“…I hit it!” he burst out, gleeful.

“That you did,” Jesse purred, patting his back, “Now finish the job, you know your gun etiquette.”

Jamie carefully unloaded the gun and set it down flat on the table, facing towards the targets.

“It just takes practice, see? You’re already doin’ great with the loadin’ and unloadin’.”

“Fawkes!” came a bark. Jamie flinched a tiny bit, glancing over his shoulder. Hanzo was tying his long hair into a ponytail as he returned from the locker room, holding several rubber-tipped arrows in his hand.

“Dr. Ziegler wants you to report to the tennis courts for physical therapy.”

“N-now?”

“Now.”

Jamie glanced over at McCree, who was in the process of loading his own pistol for practice.

“B-but…”

“It’s alright, pardner, you’ve done a good job today. Don’t want you gettin’ trigger-happy,” the Dhampir chuckled, ruffling Jamie’s blond hair. The boy calmed a bit, smiling before he headed into the locker room to grab his things.

* * *

 

The sun was, thankfully, largely hidden behind a partly cloudy sky, alleviating Jamison’s chance for sunburn. As much as he fancied himself a lover of the sun, not like those filthy creatures of the night, running around in a tank-top and shorts and chasing wayward tennis balls was hard enough without the added heat.

Angela was remarkably good at the game - Jamie had not anticipated this when he had absently mentioned his interest in tennis.  She clearly played the sport often, what with her uniform of a white shirt, tight shorts, and a yellow visor, gripping a personalized racquet tight as her black sneakers squeaked on the acrylic surface of the hardcourt.

The ball bounced up against the high mesh fence and came to a defeated stop as Jamie came over to get it, adjusting his headband as he caught his breath.

“40, 15. Game point,” Angela called, leaning on her racquet and pulling a new ball from her pocket. She served it neatly overhead, hitting it with a resounding _thwack_ and starting another rally.

Mako had joined the two before they had started, bringing with him some water bottles from the kitchen to hand out after the match. As he sat quietly on a bench by the court, listening to the resonating sounds of the ball hitting racquet and floor in a repeating rhythm, his eyes found themselves drifting over to Angela’s side of the court, watching her long, slender legs moving neatly back and forth along the baseline of the court, arms moving overhead to hit the ball, chest rising and falling neatly as -

“Duck -!”

Mako blinked in confusion before he felt the tennis ball smack squarely into the side of his head, knocking him off the bench as his right ear began to ring loudly.

“Mako!”

The Thrall became aware of Angela’s soft hands cupping his face, moving his thick gray hair out of the way to examine the bruise. He felt a rush of heat to his face inadvertently as he looked up at her.

“Goodness, Jamison, you hit hard…” she murmured, stroking the spot gently, “Let me get some ice…”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Mako said quickly, glancing over at Jamie. He was clearly trying to repress a smile. Mako had a sneaking suspicion he may have purposefully hit him, maybe to try and get Angela to pay him some attention.

“Are you sure?  At least go get some ice, Mako…”

Begrudgingly, the Thrall pulled himself up, wandering back towards to the main hall, even though he could feel the tender skin healing itself with each step he took.

“C’mon, Doc!” Jamie was calling, bouncing from foot to foot, “I smell a comeback for the Fawkes!”

“Alright, alright, once more…”

By the time Mako returned from the locker room, twiddling a rapidly-melting ice cube in his large fingers, the first came had been completed, the point going to Jamison in a surprise twist. The next game was won by Angela, after a deuce.

“Alright, Jamison, that’s enough for today…” she said, breathing hard as she placed her hands behind her head.

“Aw, but we ain’t done a tie-breaker!”

“I’m sure the only reason I beat you on the last game was because you’re starting to get tired, dear - don’t worry, you win.”

Jamie made a chuckle as Mako tossed him a water bottle - he certainly could feel the strain of his muscles and the prickle of sunburn on his exposed neck and shoulders by the point, and the constant thudding of his prosthetic foot on the ground had left the skin of his stump raw for sure. He gulped down the water greedily as Angela collected the stray tennis balls. It felt weird, in many senses, to go from near-panic over where his next meal would come from, to being able to drink and eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He slowed down his gulps, trying to savor the cool water as he picked up the little satchel he had gotten from McCree - it was a khaki color and bore the Blackwatch logo on the top flap. As of now, it had little in it save for a Jamie’s lucky lighter, his room key, and a box of adhesive bandages he had nicked from the infirmary.

Now that the sneaker squeaks, focused grunts, and resounding thwacks were silenced, the boy was much more easily able to pick up on the nearby yelling on the grassy football field - or, soccer, since they were in the States now?

“The others must be playing a game - do you want to watch?” Angela asked, ringing the sweat out of her visor. Jamie nodded as Mako joined him, the three heading in the direction of the field.

Jamison immediately recognized Lena, who was racing about on the short-cut grass and kicking the ball along- the Brit really did move at extraordinarily fast speeds. As his eye traveled, he noticed Reinhardt at one of the goal nets, cheering the speedy cadet on. There were two others that Jamie did not know - a bronze-skinned brunette trying very hard to steal the ball from Lena, and a muscular, pink-haired woman at the opposing goal. Lena pulled back her leg, ready to shoot for the net, and struck hard, only for the ball to bounce off the goalpost with a pleasant _ding!_ , bouncing off into the bushes surrounding the makeshift field.

“Ah, bullocks!” Lena swore, standing up on one leg and rolling her ankle.

“Good try, Lena!” Angela called, the four looked over.

“Hiya, Jamison!” the Brit chirped, darting over, “How’s your first day here so far?”

“Oh, it’s been ripper, miss,” Jamie mumbled, now suddenly aware of how his sweaty shirt clung to his thin frame and how red his cheeks were from exerting himself. He tried to busy himself with picking at the label of his water bottle as the other three players came over.

“Good to see you two again!” Reinhardt’s voice boomed as he ruffled Mako and Jamie’s hairs with his big hands.

“I don’t think you two have met Fareeha and Aleksandra,” Angela said, gesturing to the two muscular women, “Ladies, these are our two newest recruits, Jamison and Mako.”

“Call me Zarya,” the pink-haired one said through a thick Russian accent, shaking their hands. Her grip was firm and her biceps rippled with each movement she made. Jamie resisted the urge to ask if he could touch them.

“What’s the 512 for?” Mako asked, gesturing to the numbers on her shoulder as he grew painfully aware of how warm he felt all of a sudden.

“My deadlift record,” she replied smugly, patting the thick black tattoo.

Fareeha had yet to say anything, having been busy with her own water bottle - she flicked the cap off with a quick snap of her pointer finger before taking a length drink. She looked weirdly familiar, but Jamie could not place it. He had a feeling he had seen that strange pattern on her eye before somewhere.

“…I was thinking, perhaps, you girls could take Jamison on the tour of the building. I took Mako this morning,” Angela was saying.

“Ooo, I’d love to, but I definitely need to hit the washroom first!” Lena said, Zarya following with a nod.

”That’s fine, how about you four meet up at the locker room entrance in half an hour?”

A general murmur of consensus ran through the group as they went their separate ways. Jamie, feeling the prickle of shyness in his stomach, looked to Angela pleadingly.

“Can’t ya take me?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Jamie, the girls are all very nice. Besides, I do need to get back to the office - we’ve got a new applicant we’re testing today, and I need to sort through the paperwork for Mako’s new position.”

The bottom of Jamie’s stomach seemed to suddenly drop.

“N-new position?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Jamie, don’t worry. I just reckon I’m better off helping out in the infirmary with Angela and Ana - there’s only two medics for the whole team, Blackwatch will be well off without me.”

Jamie opened his mouth to retort that while Blackwatch would be well off, _he_ would not, but bit back the comment - he knew well enough the twofold reason Mako would not want to join the more fighting-oriented side of Overwatch. Being a medic meant less chance of him being injured and exposing himself, not to mention the access he would have to the blood-bag supply. This would be better in the long run for the both of them. If Mako was found out - well, Jamie did not want to think about that.

“Go on, you need t’shower, stinkbug,” Mako playfully teased, patting the boy’s back. Jamie made a grumble, heading in the direction of the locker rooms. A long, hot shower helped ease the aching of his joints, a thick layer of aloe on his neck helped soothe the sore burns. He made a mental note to put sunscreen next time, pulling on a white t-shirt and denim shorts that Genji had lent him.

The three girls were waiting for him, also in new clothes. Despite the fact that he was the second tallest in the group, Jamie felt overwhelmingly small, awkwardly wishing he had worn something long-sleeved to cover his metallic prosthesis. These girls were perfect - no enhancements, no alterations, just skin and skill. And here he was, little Jamie, two limbs down and having completely bullshitted his way into the program to begin with.

“Ready to get started, Jamison?” Lena said, her bubbly attitude raising his spirits just a little. He nodded shyly, following the three as they showed him around.

The true headquarters of Overwatch were not much different than the smaller station out in Australia - there were still the engineering labs, the life science labs, the computer rooms, the gyms and locker rooms, and the dormitories. But the technology was far more advanced, with cards used to unlock the various rooms instead of real keys, and a speaker system for announcements. The cafeteria was also far more expansive than the tiny canteen back in Oz, sporting several buffet-style stations that swapped out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The gym had several pools and indoor courts, and there was also a two-story library with a glass dome that let the sunlight pour in - this was by far Jamison’s favorite part.

“As a member of Overwatch, you get a monthly salary, as well as bonuses for specific assignments,” Fareeha explained as they made their way outside, to the gardens, “Room, board, and medical care are part of your package for working here. What you do with that monthly salary is up to you.”

“Special…assignments?”

“You’re probably get a lot more of those than we do, being Blackwatch and all,” Lena said, twiddling her keycard in her fingers, “But sometimes we’ll have a sticky-wicket - a nest, a particularly nasty blood-sucker, a pack of Ghouls, you name it.”

Jamie felt a chill up his spine.

“Don’t worry, Jamie - you’ve got the best team of vampire hunters in the world at your back!”

“If you can’t handle yourself, we will step in,” Zarya said, picking at one of her pink nails. Jamie gulped, acutely aware of his missing limbs. How long before someone outed him as the weak link in the team?

“I think that’s all for the tour,” Fareeha spoke up, “I’d best get back to training.”

“I will as well, I have yet to practice my weights,” Zarya agreed, following the brunette.

“It was nice to see you again, Jamison!” Lena said with a smile, “If you ever have any questions, you know who to call!”

“Y-yeah, thanks…”

Jamie watched the cadet speed off, leaving him alone in the garden. He kicked a loose pebble with his sneaker toe, watching it skitter into the flowerbeds, and chewed his lip. He really, really wished now he had insisted on Angela taking him on the tour instead - he felt weirdly alienated now. Did Mako feel this way?

The sound of jingling wormed its way into Jamie’s ear, making him lift his head. Turning around, he found that up on the gym’s veranda, McCree was leaning on the metal railing, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing as he crossed one leg behind the other. The blond hesitated, debating mentally as he ran his tongue over his lips, before walking up the stairs and cautiously approaching the Dhampir. He was holding a cigarette in his lips and clicking at the little wheel of a lighter in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Howdy, kiddo,” Jesse said, as the flame caught on the end of the cigarette. He drew in a breath and exhales, smoke swirling around his head as he looked his apprentice over. Jamie had worked his tongue out of his mouth in a ‘blep’ - growing suddenly aware of this, he tucked it back in and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You smoke?” the Dhampir asked, extending the pack of cigarettes. Jamison’s mind began to race. No, he had never smoked, had never planned to, but would it be rude to refuse? Or, worse still, would McCree’s opinion of him go down? Would he think that this stray blond kid was too uncool for him?

_No, no, you’re overthinking this, Jamie._

_…_

_But what if you’re not?_

“Uh…yeah,” he settled on, taking one of the cigarettes and twiddling it between his fingers. McCree extended his hand with the lit lighter, allowing Jamie to bend and neatly light the end of the cigarette. He instinctively sucked in a huge breath, only to feel like he just shoved a handful of ash down his throat, and promptly descended into a coughing fit.

“You alright there?” Jesse asked, smiling a bit.

“F-f-fine -!” Jamie managed to sputter past his wheezes, breathing hard once the coughs subsided. No wonder Mako abhorred smokers - if someone like him got like this after one breath, how would an asthmatic Thrall cope?

“Y’know, you didn’t have to lie to me like that,” McCree said.

“Lie? Lie about wot?” Jamie tried to maintain an innocent tone, though it was hard through his strangled voice.

“You don’t smoke, d’you?”

Jamison’s ears warmed.

“…n-no…how’d ya know?”

“Well, for starters, you lit the wrong end. The orange part goes in yer maw.”

The heat in the boy’s ears migrated to his face.

“Well…don’t I feel like a real drongo now…”

McCree laughed, giving his shoulder a pat.

“Don’t smoke, by the way. It’s bad for you,” he said, turning back to the railing and gazing out at the sunny garden. Jamie gazed down at the still-burning cigarette in his fingers, making a grunt before he dropped it to the concrete and extinguished it under his sneaker.

“…ya can’t go out in the sun?” Jamie asked, trying to change the subject.

“Naw…not for long, anyway. That’s alright. I’m basically nocturnal anyway.”

“That’s why ya were late today, huh.”

The cowboy made a low chuckle, putting his hands on his hips. Jamie caught himself staring at McCree’s prosthesis, suddenly growing aware of his own.

“Nice to have a pardner ‘round that matches.”

“Wot?”

McCree extended his metal left arm to Jamie.

“It’s okay, you can take a look.”

Jamie hesitated, then rested his flesh fingers on the metal, running them up and down the length of the patterned skull on the side.

“…how’d ya lose it?”

McCree’s eyes misted over.

“My pa - y’remember, the head of the Deadlock clan - was disarmed. Knocked out cold, completely. It was a raid on our camp, snipers everywhere. I didn’t think, I just did. Threw my arm out, like flesh could stop a speeding bullet. Pa woke up to me yellin’. We managed to stop the bleedin’, but even a real vamp can’t handle losin’ an arm, let alone some… _filthy hybrid_ like me.”

Jamie was taken aback at the venom in McCree’s tone.

“F-filthy? Whataya mean?”

“Dontcha know, kiddo? Dhampirs ain’t really respected in the world of vamps. We’re just half-breeds. Fakers. Got all the failin’s of a vamp and a human, all mixed up into one nasty package. Can’t go out in the sun, ain’t fast or strong, don’t even need silver to take us out. Weaker than the weakest Thrall. We’re as welcome as an outhouse breeze in most vampire circles - only reason they didn’t send my hide packin’ back in Arizona was because my pa wouldn’t hear it, though they certainly gave me a hard time for it.”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“That’s why I started questionin’ if it was truly right for me to be there. Felt wrong to be doin’ all those crimes, especially for some ol’ bastards who ain’t give a hoot if you’re alive or dead. My pa didn’t take kindly to my defectin’, but he let me go since I’d thrown my arm out to save his life. One o’these days, I’ll have t’face him again, I’m sure. Dunno if I’ll be able t’pull the trigger.”

Jamie winced, thinking how hard it must be to kill someone you love. What if he had to shoot Mako? He could hardly bear the thought.

“How’d ya lose yours?”

“Pardon?”

“Your leg ‘n’ arm. I told you my story, now it’s your turn.”

Jamie rubbed his elbow, feeling a familiar ache that came with the memories.

“…Ghoul attacked me…and ripped off me arm. Mako saved me, otherwise I’d have bled out…and…leg was Ang - Doctor Ziegler. It was ‘surgically necessary’, she said.”

“…you ever feel like half a man?”

“Only all the time.”

McCree chuckled.

“Well, pardner, let me tell you this. You might end up all robot one day, like our very own Genji, but you ain’t ever gonna stop bein’ a man until you lose this.”

Jesse rested his right hand on Jamison’s chest, feeling the heartbeat dance under his fingers. Jamie held his breath, trying to restrain his pulse from speeding up, and failing miserably.

“Now run along. I heard there was some new girl lookin’ into joinin’. Go give her a once-over for me.”

The Dhampir’s hand moved up, his finger flicking Jamie’s nose gently on the way up and making a rush of color flood the blond’s face. He watched McCree tuck his cigarette pack into his pocket and start heading back to the training arenas, adjusting his cowboy hat as he walked. His spurs jingled softly in the heavy summer air.

* * *

 

 “Jamison?”

Jamie shifted a bit, lifting his heavy head. Judging by the sticky feeling pervading his body, he must have fallen asleep. Blinking blearily, he came to remember where he was - he had migrated to the library after talking to McCree, excited to find something to read, only to inadvertently fall asleep in one of the comfy chairs, his legs pulled up and his head awkwardly crooked with a book on werewolves on his lap. Since, the slowly travelling patch of orange sun had made its way right to his face, making him squint stupidly up at whoever was speaking to him.

It was Angela, smiling amusedly.

“Napping?”

Jamie yawned, rubbing an eye with his thumb.

“Yes’m…”

He came to realize she was not alone - a thin girl with thick brunette hair was at her side. Jamie gulped audibly, sitting upright with a jolt.

“S-sorry, I didn’t -! W-who’s this?!”

“It’s quite alright, Jamison,” Angela laughed, “This is Hana. She’s our newest recruit - got a perfect score on the test, just like you.”

Hana extended her hand with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Jamison,” she said, voice bright and sporting some sort of accent that the Aussie could not place.

“C-call me Jamie,” he said, extending his prosthetic right hand, then thinking better of it and swapping it for the left. Hana watched his fumblings with a seemingly genuine grin, which only made the shy blond’s ears burn more.

_Damn, why is everyone here a right catch…_

“A what?”

Jamie made a weak noise of horror as he realized he had just said that out loud.

“N-nothin’! I, uh - fuck - what division are ya, miss?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Angela replied, thankfully saving what was left of the conversation as Hana stifled a giggle, “But for now, she’ll be training alongside you and the other members of Blackwatch, and we’ll reassign her if we see fit.”

“Wherever I go, as long as I get to kill vamps, I’ll be more than happy,” Hana said, with a mixture of pride and snark in her voice as she placed her hands on her hips. Jamison opened his mouth to respond when the squawk of the PA system interrupted him.

“Overwatch and Blackwatch agents, report to Conference Room 4L immediately,” Morrison’s gravelly voice sounded from the speakers. Jamie gulped a bit, gripping his satchel.

“This sounds like a mission briefing - you should come to see how it’s done, Jamison,” Angela said, voice faintly ringing with pride, “Come on, Hana can sit in and watch as well.”

The Aussie stifled a whine, suddenly overcome with anxiety again. He had just barely learned how to shoot, what if they wanted to send him into the field already? What on earth could Morrison have planned for him? He chewed his bottom lip and opted to stare at his sneakers as he limped down the hall.

“So you’re Blackwatch too? What d’you do?” Hana asked as they walked.

“Oh, I haven’t done much, me ‘n’ Mako just rolled up here from ‘Straya a few days ago…”

“You’re from Australia? Wow, that’s awesome. My family is - was - from South Korea.”

Jamison opted not to ask why she changed her comment to be past-tense - not that he would have gotten a chance to, having smacked his head hard on the top of the doorframe as he walked into the conference room.

“Ah, shit! Are you okay?” Hana asked as Jamie doubled over, holding his forehead.

“I’m aces, don’t worry -!” he sputtered through gritted teeth, mentally cursing his complete dearth of social skills.

Mako was already waiting for him in one of the seats, scratching absently at his cheek as Jamie sat down beside him.

“You look like shit.”

“Rack off, pig.”

“There’s yer old self, peekin’ through. I was wonderin’ when you were gonna stop being such a skittish little kid.”

“I ain’t skittish, ya drongo! Just…overwhelmed. There’s way t-too many new people ‘n’ things here, I get so…never mind, I’m gettin’ used to it. Soon I’ll be me old earbashin’ self again.”

“On second thought, stay shy,” Mako chuckled, ruffling Jamie’s hair with his big hand despite protesting squeals. He had honestly expected Jamie to flounder in this environment, having not had almost any socialization since he was a child aside from Mako himself, and was pleased to see the young blond slowly beginning to shed the thick layers of social anxiety he had steeped himself in.

“Pipe down, all of you! Enough!” Morrison barked as he walked in, all but tossing a manila folder of papers on the desk as Ana connected an HDMI cable to her slim silver laptop, “This is our first big case in over three months, so listen up!”

A hush fell over the crowd as Jamie leaned forward a bit, intrigued. A picture popped up on the projector screen of what appeared to be a small, unassuming building.

“…the old nightclub?” Genji piped up from the back of the room.

“Yes. We previously thought it was abandoned, but we’ve tracked down some video posted online back to this location,” Morrison said, moving a laser pointer’s red dot around the image. Jamison followed the blot of light like a cat until the next picture flashed on screen. It was a selfie, it seemed, taken by a tall, tan-skinned, mohawk-bearing man with what appeared to be glowing skeletal tattoos or paint decorating his skin, surrounded by others bearing similar designs. All had wild hair and odd clothes as well - not that their tacky appearances were adequate distraction from the large fangs jutting out past their lips, or, in the case of the man taking the photo, the glowing crimson of his irises.

“This club has been taken over by the small branch of the Los Muertos clan. They are notorious for their cleverness in evading detection as well as their highly selective Turning process. Our primary target is this individual here,” the commander said, waving the laser pointer around the one taking the picture, “A Master Vampire and the leader of this faction of the clan. We know him only as Cortez. He’s been migrating upwards from Mexico along the East Coast for years, Turning dozens of victims without their consent and killing those who stood in his way.”

Jamison glanced at Mako, the two sharing a look. These vampires were hardly like the mutants in Australia that the two were used to - what had been feral, vulture-like creatures that would tear each other apart over a loose human bone were now replaced with clever, organized clans. There, in that picture staring back at them, they had an almost human quality between the twinkling smiles and the act of taking the selfie. But even then, staring at those sharp teeth and bright red eyes, the hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck stood up.

“As per Dragomir v. Jones, we cannot -”

“Dragon what?” Jamison asked, a little too loudly. Mako snorted into his hand as Morrison made an exasperated sound in his throat.

“It was a case wherein a convicted vampire, Astrid Dragomir, sued a vigilante vampire hunter, Derrick Jones, for barging into her home and arresting her daughter without reasonable suspicion, simply based on a tip,” Hana said, as if reciting directly from a textbook, “The jury begrudgingly agreed that vampires are not below due process, meaning that even in cases of known vampire hideouts, one must have a direct reason to enter.”

“Excellently worded,” Ana said with an approving nod. Jamie’s ears burned a bit as he glanced at the newest recruit. She shot him a knowing smile.

“Yes, yes, 10 points to Gryffindor and all that,” the commander grumbled, “Back to our original conversation. We are planning to perform an undercover raid on the club. One of us will enter under the guise of a human wanting to be Turned. Once we have direct proof, that being a confession by Cortez, we may proceed with standard protocol 501.”

Jamison felt the burning question of what that was scratching at the back of his throat, but in fear of looking stupid again, he kept his mouth shut.

“Now then - Blackwatch, report to my office in five minutes. The rest of you, vehicle bay, one hour.”

Mako stiffened a bit, glancing at Jamie and watching a bead of sweat roll down his pale cheek.

“Jamie -” he started to say, reaching a hand out to the boy.

“C’mon, kiddo,” McCree called to the blond, beckoning him over. Jamie gulped audibly, hauling himself up and stumbling over on weak legs.

“Mako, would you like to help me pack some medical supplies?” Angela asked with a polite smile, “We’ll need to have some on standby. Usually Brigitte helps me but she’s still on holiday…”

“Of course, Angela,” the Day-Walker rumbled, trying to keep the worry out of his tone as he watched McCree rest his hand on the small of Jamie’s back. The tiniest of protective growls worked its way past his lips, unheard under the low roar of the agents talking to each other and the squeak of chairs being replaced.

The four members of Blackwatch and the new addition of Hana soon found themselves somewhat cramped, standing elbow in the elevator in the commander’s office as he looked them over with pursed lips.

“…Fawkes.”

Jamie stiffened.

“Sir?” he managed to croak out, cringing at his own voice.

“You’ll be the undercover agent. Genji will get you prepared.”

Every drop of blood in Jamie’s body seemed to rush to his feet.

“Commander, he’s new to the force, we haven’t even finished basic gun trainin’ -” McCree began, but Jack held up his hand.

“That’s what makes him suitable. The Shimadas are still on high alert after our last raids, and you already are a vampire, McCree. Jamison is too new to be suspicious - and if this goes correctly, there will be no need for him to use a gun.”

“What about me?” Hana piped up, “I’m sure I can handle some punks.”

“We’ve already applied on the forums as a male, otherwise I would have allowed you to.”

“B-b-but what do I say? I’m not the best actor, c-can barely play the part of meself let alone someone else, I just -” Jamie babbled, in a bit of a panic.

“We’ll tell you what to do. Now, Genji, take him to get ready.”

“B-but -!”

“This wasn’t a suggestion. Move out!”

“Don’t worry, Jamison,” Genji reassured, his soft voice reminding the blond of a hot cup of tea, “Come, I’ll tell you all about being undercover.”

Jamie looked at him as they walked, Hanzo and McCree splitting off to gather supplies.

“You’ve been undercover too?” he asked.

“Many a time, yes,” Genji nodded pensively, “And unlike my brother or McCree, I have no powers to help me in difficult times. Just my wits, my sword, and my tongue.”

“Isn’t that scary…?”

“It can be. I’ve sustained some injuries over the years. But…there is a certain exhilaration to it all. And besides, I know my comrades will have my back.”

Genji patted Jamie’s shoulder as they entered a room that looked vaguely like the storage closet of a particularly pompous theatre.

“Let’s see…”

Genji dug around in some boxes and withdraw a black denim jacket with what looked like flecks of white paint dotting the sleeves and back, as well as an eyeliner pen.

“Kids who usually want to be Turned have very…specific styles,” he said, tossing the jacket to Jamie, “I suppose you could call it goth, but I honestly felt it was insulting to the word.”

The blond donned it quickly before using an eyeliner pen to try and trace an even ring around each of his eyes. Of course, being perfect was never in his nature, and the blots of black made him look like a raccoon.

“…too much?” he asked Genji sheepishly, expecting to be told to remove it and try again like the gun training earlier.

“Actually, you look pretty good,” the werewolf said cheerily, using a thumb to soften the harshest the edges on Jamie’s lids, “Now, just one more thing…”

He dug through a box of hats and withdraw a black wide-brimmed hat, slapping it on Jamie’s head. The ribbon on it was heavy with metal studs.

“This seems quite tacky to me.”

“Then it’s perfect,” Genji said smugly, making the blond laugh. Briefly, the tension melted from his chest.

The two headed down to the vehicle bay, where McCree held out a small tin box for Jamie.

“What’s this?” he asked, opening it to find a strange button-shaped black thing and what looked like a single flesh-colored headphone.

“Microphone and earbud - a way for us t’communicate,” Jesse said, affixing the mic to the lapel of the denim jacket as Jamie slipped in the bud, “No one will notice them unless they’re lookin’.”

 _Hey, is this thing on? Hi, Jamie!_ Hana’s voice piped up in Jamie’s ear.

“Uh? Hana? Where are ya?” Jamie said, looking around. He did not need to look far as he saw a sleek-looking black van open its doors and a familiar head of long brown hair poke out.

“Over here! We’re going to all pile in here and keep an eye on you until it's time to barge in and save the day!”

“As in, Blackwatch will be, not you, child. You’re staying here,” Hanzo’s grumble echoed from the back seat.

“Who are you calling a child?” Hana snapped, clearly intending to give the older Shimada a piece of her mind, but was interrupted by the sound of thudding combat boots on the tarmac of the garage. Morrison had joined them.

“Are you all set, Jamison?” he said curtly. Jamie made a weak nod, stomach doing somersaults again.

“Good. We’ll brief you as we drive. Get in.”

“W-what ‘bout Mako?”

“He’s staying here,” Angela said gently, stretching her hand out to help Hana out of the car, “From our experience, having a parental figure around can make missions difficult. A bit too much pressure.”

Jamison bit his lip, knowing she was right and trying to push down the anxiety brewing in his gut. The car smelled like leather, as he awkwardly settled in between McCree and Hanzo. Genji settled in the passenger side while Morrison plunked into the driver’s seat. Angela and Hana watched from the side of the garage, waving goodbye.

“…only us?” Jamison asked.

“We can handle a nest of this size. We’re only after the boss anyway. Once we get him the rest will be taken care of too.”

Jamie wanted to ask what he meant, but the purring of the car willed him into silence as they drove into town. The sun had just set over the horizon, a faint blur of pale orange the only sign of the blinding light that had been pouring onto Jamie’s face barely an hour prior. He ran his tongue over dry lips, bouncing his left leg nervously.

“Your job will be to get through the entrance line, informing them that you’re the one interested in being Turned. They should already be expecting you. After that, get in and act as natural as possible until the boss calls you in. Chat him up, get him to say something about biting you, and then we can move in. Think you can handle that, Fawkes?”

Jamie gulped audibly.

“I-I’ll try…”

“We’ll be right here listenin’ in - if anythin’ happens, we’ll run straight in t’get you,” Jesse reassured him as they pulled up to a stop behind a decrepit-looking building. Jamie craned his neck to look at the debris-ridden entrance. It must have been abandoned for months.

“…looks real shithouse. Are ya sure this is it? I don’t see any of the mongrels anywhere.”

“Don’t let looks fool you, Jamie,” Genji warned. Barely had he finished the thought when two women with fishnets and six-inch platform boots came walking by, ducking into the rubble like they owned the place. Jamie felt a whine tug at his throat.

“Whenever you’re ready, Fawkes.”

The blond quietly opened the door, tugging his jacket down over his prosthetic arm and taking a shaky breath. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back in that car and beg someone else to do this, but between Morrison’s hot gaze boring into his back and his desperation to make himself look like a capable member of the team, his legs found themselves slowly shuffling towards the abandoned building.

He could barely see in the dark of the debris, squinting to try and make out the objects in his way based on how the faint light of the streetlamps shone in through boarded windows. There was a faint thudding below his feet, rhythmic and accompanied by the occasional whoop. Jamison carefully wormed his way through upturned tables and old wooden planks, trying to find the source of the noise. He likely would have searched for ages had he not heard a strange metallic clunk beneath his shoe - glancing down, his eye fell on a trapdoor, hidden in the dusky light. He heaved it up by the brass hoop, the volume of the music increasing dramatically.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, I don’t wanna do this…_ he thought with a poignant whimper, lowering his left foot and feeling for the metal rung of the ladder leading down into the abyss. He gripped the rust-stained bars, slowly descending down as the thudding house music grew louder, pressing against his eardrums. When he felt the flat concrete ground against his foot, he relinquished the ladder and turned, looking behind the thin corridor. There was a line of men and women in front of him, including the two boot-wearing girls from before, waiting in a queue for a musclebound, bald man to let them in. His ears had a slight point and Jamie could see the glint of sharp canines whenever he opened his mouth. A shiver ran down the blond’s spine.

 _How are you doing, Jamison?_   Genji’s voice piped up in his ear, _What do you see?_

“I’m in the queue…” Jamie mumbled, keeping his voice low to avoid detection as he stood behind the girls.

 _Good work findin’ it. You’re doin’ great,_ Jesse praised, making a bead of warmth expand in the blond’s chest. He sucked in a breath as he slowly progressed to the front of the line, staring at the neon sign that read ‘Los Muertos’.

“Wait,” said the bouncer, voice deep and gravelly. Jamison forced himself to make eye contact, despite the pulsing itch behind his eyeball that seemed to only get worse the longer he stared. His breaths became shallower, desperately wishing he could avert his gaze from those deep red ones peering into his face, seeming to scrutinize every detail.

"…you're that kid who wants to get Turned?" the bouncer finally asked, glaring down at Jamie. He gulped audibly, palms sweaty.

"Y-yeah," he squeaked, looking at the glow-in-the-dark bone paint adoring the beefy arms. The bouncer made a grunt, pushing him into the club roughly.

"Hey! Ira! Keep this one busy until the boss is ready to see him," he growled. Jamison turned around and found himself almost nose-deep in a busty girl's chest. She giggled, stepping down from the small stage she was on, was wearing gothic lingerie - a bright red that drew the eye to her hourglass figure. Her lips and nails were both painted as well, and glowed as if put under a black-light. As Jamie's eye traveled over the club, he realized that was the point. All the strippers and regulars had glow-in-the-dark clothes, makeup, and paint all over their bodies. They were dancing on the darkened stages, illuminated by the black-lights above to appear like undulating skeletons. Jamison might have perceived it as a neat idea if he was not paralyzed in fear.

"Hey, beautiful, I'm over here," the girl named Ira chuckled, tapping his shoulder. He started, turning around.

"A-ah, pardon, miss, I just...u-um..."

She took his hands before he could find his words and walked him through the thronging crowd. Jamie's ears were already ringing from the loud techno music and whooping vampires, and anxiety clawed at his throat, forcing him to glue his gaze down at the floor. This ultimately proved to be a mistake when he felt himself bump into the satin white shirt of another woman.

“S-sorry, sorry!” he sputtered, grabbing at the cloth to try and steady whoever he had bumped into, “I -!”

His voice cut itself short when he took in her appearance - she was as tall as him, though perhaps in his fearful state he had shrunk a bit. A short crop of red hair adorned her head, leading down to an angular face and sharp, long nose. But Jamie could hardly tear his gaze away from her eyes.

One was red, and the other was blue.

Her thin lips curled into a smile as she reached a pale hand, adorned with lengthy nails, up to gently remove his hand from her shirt.

“That’s most alright,” she said in some undiscernible accent, with a tone resembling more amusement than anger, “I’ll let you get on your way.”

She stepped aside, allowing him to quickly rejoin the vampire who had her hand extended out to him. Even as he quickly fell into step behind Ira, Jamie could not help but glance back at the red-headed woman as she quietly moved through the raving crowd, a head taller than most people there. She seemed ethereal in a way, and her touch had left Jamison with a twisting in his gut like he had just been dealt a sucker-punch.

In the throes of his nerves, Jamie failed to notice that a familiar head of dreads was sitting at the bar.

Lúcio glanced behind him at the disappearing blond, raising an eyebrow. What would a member of Overwatch be doing at a known vampire nest? He took a sip from his Type AB blood cocktail, letting the mixture of sweet blood and tangy rum dance over his tongue, when realization dawned on him.

"…yo, barkeep," he called after a pause, beckoning the bartender over before murmuring in his ear.

Jamie, meanwhile, had been pushed onto a plushy red stool in a side room that smelled thickly of sweat and other juices. The carpet underfoot had a sticky texture that made his stomach clench.

"What would you like me to do for you?" Ira purred, moving her thumbs up and down her bra straps like they were suspenders and flashing a fanged grin.

"I-I..."

Jamie was audibly hyperventilating at this point. He was being propositioned by a vampire, while stuck in a hot, loud nightclub full of even more.

 _Jamison! Keep it together!_ Morrison barked in his ear. He flinched, sitting upright.

"I...I'd really just...like a drink...u-uh..."

Jamie searched desperately for the name of some cocktail of the top of his head, but kept coming up empty.

"...j-just water..." he finally sputtered. Ira tilted her head.

"Just that? Well, alright, you’re the boss. You sit tight, love."

She sauntered out, leaving Jamie alone. Almost immediately, he flopped back onto the crunchy carpet, coughing and trying not to cry.

_Jamie? It's Jesse. Are you okay?_

"J-Jesse, I w-wanna leave..." Jamie croaked into his microphone, feeling a hot tear escape his eye and roll down his cheek.

_I know, I know...you're goin' t'be fine, okay? Just hold out a bit longer. You’re doin’ great, kiddo, all you gotta do is get t’the Master and get him t’say somethin’ ‘bout Turnin’ you._

"B-but I -"

Before Jamie could finish, the door swung open suddenly and a gravelly voice that could not be more different than Ira’s sweet, sultry murmurs spoke up.

"Hey. Kid."

Jamie looked at the door, where a beefy, bald man loaded with skeleton paint was looking him over.

"The boss'll see you now," he said. Jamie quickly hauled himself to his feet and stumbled after, along to a quiet back area in the club and pulling open a creaking door.

"Here's the kid," the bald man said, pushing Jamie in rather deliberately. The blond's eyes fell on the boss in question, the one named Cortez. He was absolutely ripped, and had a brunette mohawk that was long enough to be tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. A thick beard and goatee framed his jawline. On his lap was a topless girl - Jamie caught a hint of metal that he figured was piercings before he ducked his head, face burning in embarrassment.

 _Does everyone run around naked here?!_ he thought, sweating profusely.

"Would you excuse us for just a minute, Karstyn?" Cortez said, handing the girl back her bra. She clasped it on neatly before she walked out past Jamie, giving him a side-eye. The bald one shut the door behind her as the boss lit a cigarette.

"So...you wanna be Turned..." he mused aloud.

"...y...yes, sir," Jamie mumbled, terrified.

"Why, exactly?"

Jamie made a gulp, trying to think of a realistic excuse.

"I...I ain't got a family...or friends...no home or nothin’...got nothin' to lose..." he managed.

He’s gotta buy that, right?

The boss had gotten up, walking over slowly. His boots thudded heavily against the floor, the buckles jingling.

"And you figured that joining the Los Muertos clan would net you a home, and a family?"

Jamison forced himself to make eye contact despite every muscle in his face contorting with the effort it took.

"...y...y...yes..."

Cortez’s lip smirked.

"Alright, kid, one more question."

Before he could stop him, the Master Vampire had grabbed the lapel of his jacket, yanking off the microphone.

"What's this?"

Jamie paled, watching Cortez drop the mic and crushing it under his boot. He had been caught.

_Jamison! Whatever you do -!_

The blond did not get an opportunity to hear what Morrison’s command was before the wind was knocked out of him by a swift fist to the solar plexus, forcing him to double over and sending the headphone skittering across the floor. He barely had time to register the first assault on his senses before Cortez had grabbed him by his hair and smashed his face against the wall, causing him to see stars.

“You think you can lie to me, kid?!” he snarled.

“N-no -!” Jamie stammered nasally as he felt blood gush down his lips and chin. Cortez yanked him closer, his other hand keeping the boy’s wrists in a death-grip behind his back.

“I’m gonna drain you and send your corpse back to Overwatch in a matchbox!” he growled, voice dripping with a carnal delight as he relished the idea, “Or maybe I’ll grant your wish, kid, force you to be one of my Thralls.”

“N-no, please -!” Jamie begged, squirming as best he could as he felt the Master’s breath on his neck, “JESSE! J-JESSE!”

He was not really sure which was louder - the gunshots and screams in the club or the door being banged down, nearly crushing the bald bouncer who had been watching idly. In a blur of green and silver, Genji had neatly delivered a strike at the shoulder, forcing the boss to stagger back. Jamie made a squeak of shock as something warm and wet splattered against his face, the sickly smack muffled by Cortez’ screams. He had not really expected the startling, almost familiar red of the blood - he was reminded of his own. Ages of seeing the putrid, blackened remains of ‘blood’ that spilled from ghouls had made him forgot that most vampires were -

“Jamison! Are you okay?!” Genji asked urgently, gripping Jamie’s shoulders and shaking him a bit to snap him out of his stunned state.

“U-uh, I reckon s-so -?”

“Go back to the club, Jesse is there. I’ll deal with this…scum.”

Genji’s tone was scathing, making Jamie shrink a bit in fear, wondering if the rest of the team would be upset with him for screwing up the mission.

 _Good fuckin’ job, ya drongo_ , he cursed himself, stumbling a bit as he found his way over the unconscious guard and back into the club. At first, he thought he might be concussed, wondering where all the sound had gone, but rounding the corner he found he was hearing perfectly - the music had been awkwardly stopped, and all the patrons were cowering at their tables, all the dancers awkwardly gripping their poles.

“Kiddo!” McCree called, standing in the middle of the club with his pistol raised. He reached his left arm to Jamie, holding him close when he bolted over and buried his face in the Dhampir’s jacket.

“Shit, Jesse, I fucked it all up…”

“No, no, kiddo, you did nothin’ wrong,” Jesse reassured him, “Someone musta ratted you out. Doesn’t matter.”

The rat in question was hiding behind the bar, having quickly clambered there when he had first heard the Blackwatch crew barging into the club. Lúcio dared to peek out slightly past the wooden countertop, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he saw the half-breed comfort the blond.

_Shit, I shoulda bailed instead of warning Cortez…how the hell am I gonna get out of here?_

Genji was all but dragging Cortez in, throwing the injured Master to the floor of the club in front of Morrison and McCree. Jesse’s calm smile for Jamison quickly morphed into a sour expression, his revolver moving to aim at the head of the boss as Genji pushed him down to his knees. He was remarkably calm, lips curling into a sneer despite the still-bleeding wound on his arm.

“Cortez,” Jesse began, but was quickly cut off by the despairing screams of a number of the Thralls.

“Not the boss -!”

“Leave him alone -!”

“Quiet!” Morrison spat, firing his rifle into the ceiling a few times to startle everyone into submission. McCree cracked his neck audibly, resuming.

“Cortez, I don’t think I oughta tell you why we’re here.”

“To make a general nuisance of yerselves.”

“Shut it. You’re finished.”

McCree moved his thumb up, cocking the safety back and aiming right for Cortez’ forehead. Jamie made a small peep, knowing he should not look but unable to tear his gaze away.

“You do what you think is right, _hero_ ,” the Master snarked, crimson eyes seeming to bore right into Jesse’s own. Jamie opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by the gunshot, and left to stare at the lifeless Cortez as he slumped over.

Lúcio was in shock, stuck peering over the bar. He already knew what would follow. Six seconds. That was all it would take. He sucked in a deep breath, counting in his head.

_One…two…_

Jamison tried to wiggle away from Jesse’s grip, just wanting to get out of here.

_Three…four…_

“Wait, kiddo. We’re not done.”

_Five…_

“Not done with wh -?!”

_Six._

When the first Thralls began to scream, their limbs disintegrating into powdered ash, the entire club erupted in a panic, those who were not part of the Los Muertos clan making a mad dash to the exits despite the best attempts by Morrison and Genji to quell them. Jamison could not move, despite all the people bumping into him - he was just too stunned, watching all these vampires simply fall apart before him, screaming and reaching out to grab hold of something in some futile attempt to stop it.

“W-what’s goin’ on -?!” he burst out in a strangled voice.

“Cut off the head of the snake, and the rest of the body will follow,” Genji mused, just loud enough to be heard over the shrieks. Jamie’s throat tightened, realizing what he meant - to kill a clan’s Master Vampire meant every Thrall they had Turned would follow suit.

Lúcio dove under a table to avoid being trampled - though he was in no danger of collapsing where he stood without a blood tie to the Los Muertos, he knew very well that anyone left alive in the club after the stampede was done for. He could already hear the hybrid and the commander shooting down the non-Los Muertos escapees, a cacophony of bangs and screams. The main exit was clogged with patrons trying to make their way out, so it was hardly an option for Lúcio. That left the back room where the boss had been just minutes before - others had the same idea, making a beeline for the secret exits. The Thrall made a quick, desperate run for it.

Morrison, who had been shooting up the ladder leading into the underground club, lowered his rifle with a grunt.

“Looks like we cleared out some of them, but most got away. But we can definitely mark the Los Muertos clan off of the priority list.”

“…w…w-what was that all about?!” Jamison sputtered, pulling away from McCree’s tight grip after finally remembering he had legs.

“What was what about?” the Dhampir asked, confused.

“I t-thought we were just gonna find t-the boss and -!”

“And what, just leave?” Morrison barked.

“W-well, no, but - they weren’t doin’ nothin’, they were just -!” Jamison spluttered, on edge. His brain was screeching at him to remember that these vampires were nothing but monsters - after all, how had Cortez relished the thought of draining him of his blood - but he simply could not stop his own shaking at the carnage surrounding them. Ghouls were different than this, they were brainless, unyielding, bloodthirsty. Something about the way these Thralls reacted was so decidedly... _human_.

“It’s alright, Jamison,” Genji murmured, “You remember the case file…they were killers.”

“Here, kid, make yourself useful,” Morrison spat, shoving a spare pistol and a cartridge of ammunition into Jamie’s hands, “Go find any that are hiding. Shoot them on sight.”

“B-but -!”

“That’s an order.”

Jamison gulped, feebly loading the gun like he had practiced this morning - it seemed like an eternity ago. Just a few hours earlier he had been learning for the first time how to fire at a still target, and now he was prowling through this corpse of a nightclub to find stray vampires hiding amongst the bodies and rubble. He exhaled weakly, ducking into the back-end of the club and using his knuckles to wipe the half-dried blood from under his nose.

The first two rooms - a storage closet and some office - were empty, if not a mess from the sheer number of vampires who had stampeded through them to escape. Jamison kicked aside an overturned chair with a grumble, angry at himself for his moment of weakness, however brief. The only room left was the late Cortez’s, and he hated to admit it, but he was avoiding the room, purposefully biding his time until Jesse called him back. He really, really did not want to go back in there - it felt like Cortez’s angry ghost would haunt him for doing so.

Lúcio, as it were, had holed himself under the desk in that very room, cowering and listening intently for any sounds of an agent coming for him. He knew that he had to be very careful to avoid detection with the door being knocked down, crawling out from his hiding spot. Much to his great irritation, he quickly found the trapdoor on the ceiling leading to the surface was out of reach of his fingertips. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the plushy chair and moved to push it directly under.

Barely had he touched it before the wooden legs on the concrete floor elicited an ungodly squeak, resonating just loud enough to attract the attention of the Aussie gingerly shifting from foot to foot outside.

Jamison jumped at the sound, head jerking to the room as he gripped his pistol tight and bolted in.

“S-stop -!” he squeaked, hating how strangled his warbly voice sounded, and jerkishly held up the gun, as if hoping it would do the talking for him.

Lúcio was standing against the wall, frozen with his hands on the chair. He and Jamie’s eyes met.

At first, the blond did not remember where he had seen this vampire before, but a memory of a situation not too dissimilar to this one quickly reentered his mind - it gave him a weird sense of déjà vu to repeat this same confrontation again, but this time, he had the upper hand, and it was sitting clenched in his sweaty palm, prosthetic finger resting on the trigger.

Lúcio had noticed the pistol by now, cowering a bit as he lifted his hands up in surrender. He half-expected himself to start praying, or utter some desperate plea to the blond he had accosted yesterday not to take his undead life, but his parched mouth was silent. He had genuinely no idea why this guy was not riddling his guts with silver already.

Jamie shifted a bit, correcting his stance as his brain went into overdrive - this insidious Thrall must have recognized him from the patrol and warned Cortez that he was an undercover Overwatch agent, blowing his cover completely. And now he was trying to bail out of here without answering for it. There was a rage brewing in his gut, prompting him to tighten his grip on the pistol and angle the gun to shoot.

Lúcio tensed at the motion, throwing his hands up to cover his face.

Jamie gritted his teeth, arms taut. With one well-aimed shot, he would end this vampire’s miserable existence, exact revenge for the damage he had done.

…

So why was he not shooting?

Lúcio peeked out past his fingers, confused how he was still alive. There was a consternated expression of anger mixed with fear and sympathy on the blond’s face.

“Fawkes! Did you find anything?” Morrison called from the main room.

Jamie did not answer, orange eyes flitting briefly to the open door behind him before locking with Lúcio’s red ones again. The pistol quivered a bit as the Thrall looked at him with concern.

“…Fawkes!”

Jamison bit his lower lip hard, just willing himself to do his job, to just fire and end this dumb game, but he could not.

“Fawkes, answer me!”

Slowly, he lowered the gun.

“…no!” he called back, “Nothin’ here!”

Lúcio stared at him in shock, mouth agape. Had this vampire hunter, who had every reason to kill him now, just let him go?

“Are you sure?” the commander queried.

Jamie jerked his head up at the trapdoor, half with desperation and half with irritation, to try and convey to this idiot Thrall to get out of there.

“Yes, nothin’ here.”

He turned and walked away, dismantling his pistol as he rejoined the other agents. What had been anger at this Thrall for sabotaging the mission had now become disappointment in himself.

Lúcio, coming to his senses, had to force his legs to move - they had turned to jelly in the confrontation. With more delicacy, he picked up the chair and set it under the trapdoor, clambering on and making his escape through the ceiling soundlessly. He ran, breathing hard and fast, away from that cursed nightclub, and did not stop until he was home.

“You alright, kiddo?” McCree asked, rubbing Jamie’s back, “I think yer nose is broke…we’ll send you to Angela, get you patched up faster than a lost button in a seamstress shop.”

Normally, the blond would have laughed at Jesse’s weird Southern idioms, but right now he stayed quiet, making his way back to the car. He did not have to look at Hanzo, who was resting in the driver’s seat, to know that he had a judgmental, sour expression.

As Morrison and the other members of Blackwatch left the desecrated club, the commander calling in a secondary dispatch to clean up the corpses, none of them noticed a tall, red-headed woman slowly appearing from the shadows, as if from thin air. She looked around at the piles of ash, making a sniff. They were hardly what she was interested in - rather, she found her sights set on the blond who was making his way out, head hanging low. She ran a thumb over her chin, deep in thought, before flitting out of existence in a puff of black smoke. She had some arrangements to make.

The drive back to the base was decidedly awkward, Jamie staring out the window with furrowed brows. He could see out of the corner of his eye that McCree kept glancing at him, but neither of them chose to speak.

Angela, Mako, and Hana were waiting in the garage when the car pulled back up to the headquarters. Hana excitedly scuttled over, ready to hear all about it.

“So? Did he put up a fight? Give us deets! Whoa, Jamie, your nose doesn’t look so good.”

Jamie quietly sidestepped her and walked into the adjoining hallway, making a beeline for the elevator leading up to the dormitory level. He, frankly, could not make it to his bed fast enough. He collapsed into it, bearing his face in his pillow and heaving a sigh of frustration.

Mako came a while later, as Jamie had expected he would. That did not stop him from trying his best to ignore his partner, staring at the wall beside his bed with such an intent expression like he was trying to bore a hole in it.

“…hey,” Mako said. No answer. The Day-Walker heaved a sigh and sat on the bed beside his friend, the frame creaking in protest.

“You oughta go see Angela, let her fix you up.”

Silence.

“…Morrison gave me yer bonus pay packet for this mission. Cash, since we don’t have deposits set up yet. It’s a pretty penny, y’know.”

“I don’t want it,” Jamie finally mumbled.

“Oh, don’t you come the raw prawn with me, I know how much you love money. Just think of all the faerie bread you can buy with this,” Mako chuckled, waving the wad of hundred-dollar bills and listening to them rustle. The blond remained silent.

“…hey, Jamie…c’mon now…”

Mako rested a big hand on the boy’s back.

“What’s the matter…? You did everythin’ right.”

Jamie rubbed his face.

“I know. But…just mad at meself…for seein’ ‘em as humans. Even fer a moment.”

“You know better than anyone here that they’re all -”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, pushing himself up, “Just…nothin’. Everythin’ is peachy-keen.”

Mako blinked, watching as Jamison pocketed the wad of cash.

“Where are you goin’? It’s late.”

“Just fer a walk,” Jamie muttered dismissively, grabbing his keys before heading out of the shared dorm. Mako opened his mouth to call him back, but thought better of it, quietly resting his hands on his lap. After sitting still for a bit, as if hoping Jamie would change his mind and come back, he quietly reached for his notebook, opening it up to a fresh page. He knew in his mind he really ought to stop writing the number of days that had passed since the start of the outbreak in Australia, especially now that he and Jamie were no longer there, but he found a strange comfort in adding to the enormous number with each entry.

_ Mako’s Journal _

_5432 days since outbreak._  
_3 days since officially joining Overwatch._

_Jamie had his first big mission today - I know I should have insisted he sit this one out, it screwed his head up big time. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him here - I worry that, at some point, he’ll be faced with making a decision that is just too big for him. The consequences are many, and unforeseeable._

_I just hope he stays safe._

_Today's pig is the Duroc. The standard from which others are made._

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Lúcio was out of breath and sporting a stitch in his side by the time he made it back to the Talon hideout, stumbling up the stairs into the main foyer. Sombra looked up from her computer at him with a look of concern.

“Lú! What happened?!”

Gabriel absently turned a page in his book, seeming hardly interested.

“Get into a scuffle again? I’ve told you not to go to that -”

“The Los Muertos clan is gone.”

Everyone raised their heads with varying levels of shock and confusion.

“Gone? Gone where?” Akande asked, “Did they move south again?”

“No, I mean, they’re literally gone,” Lúcio panted, “They’re dead.”

Sombra’s eyes widened.

“Cortez…?”

“Shot, point-blank. The head.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?” Gabriel snarled, slapping his book on a nearby table and standing up, “Those filthy Overwatch ‘hunters’ are allowed to get away with this persecution of our kind. I’m done staying in this ugly city, we’ll head out tomorrow sundown.”

“I don’t believe that is the right course of action, sir,” piped up an accented voice. Lúcio jumped a bit, wheeling around to find the source standing behind him. It was the tall woman he had seen briefly at the club, the one with the short-cropped scarlet hair. From this close, he could see her mismatched eyes, staring intently into his own.

“E-excuse me -?” he squeaked.

“Who the hell are you?” Gabriel spat, “How did you even find us?”

“I followed your Thrall,” the woman said calmly, smiling at Lúcio. Her thin lips seemed to spread far too wide for her angular face when she did that, making his skin crawl. Sombra instinctively came over, resting her hands protectively on his shoulders.

“Well, in that case, I’m sure you can find your way back out to the door.”

“Master Reyes, I am certain you don’t want to appear like a coward, running away from some motley crew of idiots that call themselves vampire hunters.”

“How the hell do you know my name.”

“I know many things about you, and your clan. You are named for Lord Talon, the Master Vampire, and that’s the origin of the strain of the virus running through all of you. I also know that a certain agent from Overwatch itself, as loathsome as it is, is the only reason that your Thrall here is still walking around unharmed.”

Sombra furrowed her brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you like to tell them, Lúcio?”

Fighting the urge to ask this woman how she knew his name, Lúcio cleared his throat and obliged.

“That blond kid…the one who attacked me yesterday. He was there. He had me cornered but…didn’t shoot me. I don’t know why.”

“The reason why is hardly a matter of interest. The point is, he was unable to fulfill his goal - a weak link in the Overwatch chain.”

Lúcio opened his mouth to try and argue this claim, but Reyes spoke over him.

“And how exactly does this matter to us?”

“Weak links are easy to break - but they’re more of use to us within the chain,” the woman mused, “If we were to befriend this child, make him trust us, perhaps he would be willing to disclose some of Overwatch’s more pertinent information.”

“You want us, a group of vampires, to try and get close some inept kid just to pry some secrets from him?” Reyes barked, “Sombra could find out that same info in two minutes, avoiding raids isn’t hard.”

“More than just your clan will benefit from this. Besides, it’s not just about avoiding raids. Think bigger, Master Reyes. Think of exploiting every weakness in Overwatch until the organization falls apart, crushed under our bootheels. A world without hunters is a world where vampires reign supreme. No more running and hiding, no more persecution and death, no more living in fear.”

There was a sinister undertone to the woman’s voice that made Lúcio’s hair stand on end. He turned to look at Gabriel, adamant that there was no way he would listen to these mad ravings, but there was a curious twinkle in his Master’s crimson eyes.

“…and if the boy finds out our plans, or is no longer of use to us?”

“We kill him. Or lock him away as cattle. It hardly matters.”

“You can’t be serious!” Lúcio sputtered, but Gabriel held up a hand to silence him.

“We will accept your offer, since it’s hardly requiring much effort from us. Lúcio, you have already met this human twice - you are our best candidate for forging this alliance.”

“What -?!”

“But,” Gabriel continued, looking at the woman, “Should this go even slightly sour, we are dropping this deal.”

“You won’t regret it,” she crooned, “We should strike while the iron is hot. The boy will likely be isolating himself due to the mission. Lúcio, check near the headquarters. You may be lucky and spot him outside.”

“This is fucking stupid,” the Thrall spat, but he shrank under his Master’s hot gaze, obligingly making his way to the door.

“One more thing,” Gabriel added, “You have us at a disadvantage. You know all about us, but we don’t even know your name.”

The red-headed woman smiled.

“Moira. Moira O’Deorain.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Jamie had wandered back into town from the headquarters - by the time he made his way out of the main gates, he had realized he had not changed out of his undercover clothes, but was too unwilling to go back now. He could not face Mako - or anyone else - right now. He just needed to be alone, to try and unravel the tight knot in his gut.

He ended up sitting on a bench for a while, tapping one sneaker against the concrete. A distant bell tower rang out ten times, signaling it was getting late, and yet Jamie wanted nothing more than to procrastinate his going home further. He glanced around, hoping to spy something to occupy himself with, and his eye fell on a building with the lights still on. He approached it gingerly, looking at the neon signs advertising various beer brands in the windows - a late-night bar, the kind that probably did not own a dishwasher and mainly housed middle-aged alcoholics. After staring into the grimy windows for a bit, Jamie leaned on the door, quietly letting himself in.

The bartender was a burly, tattooed man, who was wiping a dirty glass with an equally filthy rag. He gave Jamie a once-over and scoffed.

“What can I do ya for,” he said gruffly. Jamie glanced up at the menu, but quickly found the old chalk writing was completely illegible. His mind searched for something that sounded tough and manly.

“…whiskey,” he settled on. The barkeep chortled.

“Ya look more like a daiquiri type,” he said. Jamison’s face was blank.

“Dai-wot?”

“Never mind. Here.”

The man handed him a square-shaped glass filled to the brim with amber-colored liquid - Jamie knew borderline nothing about drinking alcohol, but this seemed excessive. Not to mention this guy had not even asked for his ID. But, at this point, he did not feel up to making a fuss, carrying the cup carefully to one of the booths. There were holes all over the unpleasantly plastic-coated couch, awkwardly covered with thick black tape, and the table felt greasy, but he was too busy trying to figure out how to drink this whiskey to really care. He took a tiny sip and gagged hard at the aggressive, acrid taste as it burned his throat, but his disgust subsided as warmth expanded in his stomach, easing the tight knots of anxiousness.

As it were, Lúcio had finally made his way back to the area around the Overwatch compound, looking for the blond. He was decidedly irritated with how easily Gabriel had been swayed by that Moira woman - she clearly had some ulterior motive in mind, but what? Not that it mattered, Reyes would never listen to anything he said. He had lost count of the number of times Gabriel had accused him of treason, asking “what side are you playing for”, and it had taken all of Lúcio’s self-control not to respond with “not yours”.

His train of thought was lost as he walked beside a run-down bar of some sort, glancing in absently, only to spy a familiar head of spiky blond hair. He blinked, thinking for a minute he was hallucinating it, but sure enough, it was the same boy who barely an hour prior had been aiming a gun at him. What on earth was he doing in there, alone? Lúcio ran his tongue over his lips, wondering if it was worth it to go in or if he ought to just wait for him to come out, but finally pushed his way inside, keeping his eye on the boy.

Jamie had heard the door open but was too engrossed in his whiskey to look at who it was. He kept taking tiny sips, fighting against the initial disgust each time. He decided to try a larger sip, and it was at that moment that Lúcio decided to approach him.

“Hey,” he said. Jamie glanced up at him and promptly sucked the drink down the wrong pipe in shock, descending into a coughing fit. Lúcio rolled his eyes and thumped him on the back.

“W-w-what the hell are ya d-doin’ here?!” Jamie finally managed to wheeze after he caught his breath.

“Don’t be so loud,” the Thrall said, glancing behind them at the other patrons of the bar, who were glancing at them with varying levels of amusement and annoyance, “I just wanted to talk.”

“Talk -?! Fuck talk! Get outta here!”

“That’s not very nice,” Lúcio chuckled, sitting across from him.

“Rack off, before I call for backup!”

“Tough words coming from you. You and I both know that isn’t happening.”

Jamison fell silent, cheeks burning.

“…listen,” Lúcio began again, voice warmer this time, “I just…I wanted to apologize.”

“Fer what?”

“For…well, first of all, for kicking your prosthetic out from under you. That was…decidedly uncool. Elbowing you in the face too. I was panicking and…I didn’t really want to hurt you like that.”

Jamie swallowed hard, silent.

“And…for earlier…thanks. I know you had every reason to shoot me then, but…you didn’t.”

“Don’t push yer luck, Thrall,” he spat.

Lúcio frowned.

“Why are you so defensive?  I’m trying to be nice.”

Jamie opened his mouth to retort, but fell silent. He knew exactly why he was bristling, but it was less out of toughness and more out of fear, like a cat cornered by a hound, yowling and hissing with all his might. He cleared his throat, looking down at his whiskey.

“…look,” Lúcio said, “I know you don’t like…us. My kind. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. Neither do I.”

The blond lifted his head.

“I was Turned accidentally, and I hate that I’m stuck with this now. Trust me, it fucking sucks.”

Jamie shifted a bit.

“…you’re…you’re welcome, I guess. For all that,” he said finally.

An awkward silence hung between the two.

“…do you want to hang out more?”

Jamie blanched visibly, while Lúcio mentally scolded his own directness. He was going to scare off this kid if he was so obvious, and then Gabriel would hardly let him hear the end of it.

“I mean…if you want to.”

“I-I…” the Aussie stuttered, “I…you’re a…I’m…”

He took a deep breath.

“I…I don’t know,” he settled on finally, “How can I trust ya?”

Lúcio tilted his head a bit, then held out his left hand, fingers folded aside from the pinky.

“…wot.”

“Think of it this way. There are bad humans and good humans, right?”

Jamie paused, then nodded.

“So, surely there must be good and bad vampires too? I hate bad vampires, and bad people, just as much as you do.”

Jamison did a small start, that sentence sending his thoughts back to Mako - he, too, had been turned into a Thrall against his will. He, too, wanted to destroy the race that brought him so much tragedy. Maybe…just maybe…this vampire was the same…?

“I promise you that I won’t hurt you. I just…think it’d be good for both of us to remember that sometimes. And…” he paused, glancing down, “I could use a real friend too. Living with my kind, all isolated like this, it’s made me forget what that’s like.”

Jamie bit his lip hard. Why the fuck was he even considering this? He should be running out of that bar, screaming and bolting back to Jesse and the rest of Overwatch. Fuck, living in Australia was so much easier than this - Ghouls did not talk, did not have morals. It was easy to justify killing them.

But…maybe it was some idiotic childhood naivety, maybe it was just some stupid sense of hope…but he wanted to believe this Thrall was being honest. Someone he could connect with, someone just as misfit as he was.

Slowly, he reached his left hand out, extending his pinky and linking it with the vampire’s. Lúcio lifted his head, smiling wide.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jamie muttered, not making eye contact.

“Do you have a phone? We can text.”

“Not yet. I think they said tomorrow or somethin’, though.”

“Hmm…well, you and I both know this bar. We can meet up here, if you want.”

“Mhm.”

Lúcio removed his hand, standing up.

“I’d better get going…the others might wonder where I am.”

He dug in his pocket and withdrew a ten-dollar bill, handing it to the blond.

“Here, for your drink.”

“I could pay fer it,” Jamie said, holding up his wad of hundreds.

“Save that for yourself, get something nice. It’s my treat…um…” Lúcio laughed awkwardly, “I can’t believe this - we haven’t told each other our names. I’m Lúcio.”

“…Jamison. Call me Jamie.”

“Jamie. That’s a really nice name. I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Maybe around nine?”

Jamie nodded, trying to extinguish this burning in his cheeks.

“Cool. See you, Jamie.”

Lúcio smiled pleasantly and made his way out of the bar. Once he was out of Jamie’s field of vision, he set his jaw and rubbed his neck, leaning against a building.

What on earth was he getting himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments/kudos are appreciated greatly. Please stay tuned for the next chapters!  
> Again, I'm extremely sorry for the huge delay, but thankfully now that summer is here, I can write more and have it up soon.
> 
> Follow http://artumndiesirae.tumblr.com/ for chapter updates/art!  
> (Main blog: http://autumndiesirae.tumblr.com/)


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